DeadSynthonies

these cracking bones corrupted
their way towards your silhouette
sacrosanct and smooth
the flicker of halogen
like candles in churches
i never worshipped
a thing of beauty perhaps
for those with eyes still in sockets
i can’t believe
in anything anymore
this air surrounding
no crown but hood
a fabric of lies
and i cannot breathe
this crackling dust erupted
from wires transmitting
what was once opiate
an abstracted projection of desires
injected as quickly as possible
into giddy nervous fools
we a thing of joy perhaps
for those with nerves unfrayed