Buttonhole: A Confrontational

abstract plasma signs
burn so bright, lonely
button holes open,
unclean wires in chest

split of my sternum,
my grin ripped, only
red is a colour,
i wish you the best

like fingers run the
everything’s for sale
seconds tip untouched
past, your soul’s the same

tremble, the bass hum
laptop speak to pale
thighs, these days it fills
my cheeks, touch the name

signals of my love
scramble cable miles
let me clutch, embrace
with falseness, mirror.

it’s not. a number’s as real as a word
these days i take my toll upon the world

these touching words smile from your desk dear, you
killed yourself in plato’s picture theatre

  1. attemptsupon posted this