Aurora-Storm

those of you who sit under the same moon may speak the same language. these syllables tread softly before rending themselves upon a corner. this poetry is liquid, it sputters and jerks and freezes betwixt the thick wet grass and the webs of my fingers. the double shadows veil it, draw the vowels into unquiet resting. perhaps, when you breathe, the steam clouds your vision; reminds you that you exist, too. perhaps my serenity is your serenity as the low pulse of the freeway lulls your mind, and the green-to-grey spread before you acts as grounding.

Tear into your heart with my teeth lick the wounds on your soul raw, until they crack with the pressure and become itchy with healing. Suffocate you in the sweat-and-aloe scent of my skin. Crush you to my chest, rend your back with my claws, breathe fire into your lungs until you can barely gasp for it. Curse you, curse your suffering, curse how long you've endured. Break my palm upon your teeth, crack open your ribs and pry apart your insides. You would shudder as I shudder, you would melt under my fingers as they press brands into your back, holding you fast, shredding the like of a thousand band-aid memories and flaying you to your ver

I wanted to devour her. She was warm to the touch, to the point of fever and it gave her skin a deep, ruddy blush like the skin of an apple. There were traces of heat everywhere - the trail of my fingers to her hips, the fragility of her ribs, the delicate hollow of her throat. It was too much, so I ignited her. I gripped her in all the gentle places, held her fast with my teeth and my arms. She became flooded with fire. The heat was enough to kill me, to make me dizzy as though her body contained in itself a furnace, or the sun. There were glorious crests of it, founts, red, then, embers. They kept me warm for the rest of th

You are the architect. Upon you, we stand – we rise, we retire, we lay in agony when you fracture and with pleasure at the allowance of your grace. You are the beautiful, buttery yellow of parchment, the ivory of piano keys, the white in a checker patterned dance floor. You can be leeched and strengthened like everything. You are unlike anything. You are the product of millenia - shaped by Darwin's hand, worn smooth and strong by the handling of each subsequent generation. You are singular and universal. Do not doubt your perfection. You are the support of a structure that houses a mind capable of great things. Tendons s

My plan is to deny you, Because there are miles between the crest I am bound to on concrete feet and the quicksand inches that shift slip slurry and pull at me; every word pulls at me. I'm going to lay on coals and smoulder away like a hot fuss, drink and gamble the nights away (while you go on doing whatever). I'm going to sneak and sieve into the minds of everyone else, and think for a moment isn't it grand that I've got friends who really know how to fill the time. Isn't the bug-filled night great, with the dry-wrung screech of empty trains and the streetlights casting litter in alabaster. It's good, it's a solid nickle-p

Why must anatomy be learnt through cuts? Weeks of nothing but carving out the inside. Grey is the guideline. Despite its sterile, calculating detail it lacks – it lacks the passionate red, the spurt, the direct and tangible as veins flow up and out and into delicate branches, into colour, into the swell of slick metallic heat, all over -- all over the trunk, the canvass, to burst it wide open and tear through the cavernous walls, to dive head-first into the mess of it. And you are achieving not because you are scripting precise quantities and strict measurements, but because you are talking in tongues, the red howling

It comes and goes, floods red. Passages you carve out of stone, through to tunnels that stiffen long before you are gone. And you sense the death in it? Their bodies part so easily under your fingers, like envelopes. Do not fool yourself. This is no exchange – this is taking because you need and there is no other way. This is consuming, this is dark blots slurring the edge of your vision, spider-cracks striking at your fingertips memories that fracture and distort with each pleading breath. carnivore, cannibal, inhuman. In starving yourself, in feeding – and tugging in the bottom of your leaden soul is only this hop

There is this place I used to know. I knew what it was called, too back then. Last time I passed it by with my feet speaking a slow drawl against the slick autumn sidewalk I had plugged myself into a tragic, foreboding sound that coursed through my body like general anesthetic. Suddenly. Sirens broke the blissful semi-silence droning on inside my head. I closed my eyes and reached out and my fingers glanced the sterile shell of a creature taught only to wail and speed past like a ghost. Breathe in. I watched as it flashed through a neon-soaked night, screaming for attention like a general at war. The distance was surr

If there were a time when your fears came to pass And your only rejoice - noise torn out at last Even still hollow echoes have senses to linger And a gap of years slip through your cold quicksand fingers Ears numb to a whirlwind you know, you know Soul dragged into the deep end you know, you know And the pain of displacement is wearing away To reveal a less picturesque realm of decay That I've locked myself in with this raw twist of words And to feel these demons dark within me preserve A semblance, a bearing of where my path lay Yet now all I can cry for is something to stay The cruel hand that breaks me, everything chases Me in

There is so much I hate in waking. There is the stiff numbness of the bones, the soft shock of a brain trying to cope. There is the muster of strength to leave somewhere warm to leave the comfort and sweet numbness. Above all there is a sense of being uprooted completely and unwillfully so that in catching the fragments of a dream I cut my fingers to pieces.