Feb. 12, 2013

under the watchful gaze of crooked angels
windowpanes backlit by small-town glow in the night
bone fingers scratching spider-webbed glass
shaking in the wind-chill air
crystallizing the veins in your lungs, your heart
turn on the lights so they can see you in the dark
until the filament burns out
and the bulb fills with smoke
waiting to shatter--

two boys kiss on a stage
spotlights and sweat and a kickdrum beat in your chest
pretty eyes pretty smiles pretty cracks in the mirror
but not in your armour
your game of pretend
and I win if I can keep you warm without going down in flames

turn up the volume and blur the edges
read your favourite stories again and again
do you still get a thrill when he bleeds and blacks out?
one of those things where you shouldn't but you do anyway
edit, cross out the lines
make it less obvious, a little more ambiguous
make it the title of a song you only play in your bedroom at 2am
you wouldn't want people to actually know

I want to live in this soundscape
write my story to the beat of rock'n'roll
make ears bleed and hearts sing
get clever
make it
break it
superglue it
teetering on the edge