Paper Books

This tin tacked spider’s web consumes my pin cushion heart.

I spiral in this sepia stained world, screaming with sounds.

We skip and skid towards the ever looming cult.

Sit in class, listen to the nails on the chalkboard and

Sit.

We swim and sink on the joy filled roses.

Crying to the moon on a dark summer’s day.

Open your eyes and see how you cry, how

Ugly you are.

Hold it in your hand of hearts and

Crush the crimson silk into dancing spindles of thread.

Take your avant-garde pen and scribble scars on your sand castle canvas.

Your words are a delicate diaspora, a foreign tongue

A muscle that used to so tenderly love, lick, and spit.

The sweet savour when dressed in cotton candy colours

Is the sourest jewel.

Close your butterfly eyes and open your wild mind

To the vicious jungle. Before you can no longer

Caress your own imagination.