the destroyer > text > Jon-Michael Frank
from DIANA ROSS & THE SUPREMES
a horse walks in the same circle our sorrow does it’s hard
to forget when the bodega closed I love you to have something
to die with the baby’s elbow obstructing the entire sun
cerebral experiences suck a girl with an anarchy patch on her
sweatshirt an epiphany of harsh flowers tendrils gesture
towards the abysses I hope it’s ok to stay out of life this long
I want to make real life an internal event gif of the black
rose glitzy skies stanch the universe when I think of the
world I think of an object far off pee running down the
goth girl’s leg the beast of what will happen how do we
get to the wounds we necessitate tin cans slack in a
meadow thoughts are masterful claws through the muck
people have a devastation about them amethyst yowling
in the ravine the desire to want something to not come
back from
hermetic in the future black hair and a choker
youth as an elegy tough as a flower lie away
in a lake forever romanticism polices sunlight
into a square aster on the crotch the enlightenment
of melancholy is temporal heaven in a sinkhole
contemporary zones of the world as such I want
love to fuck up my life the lifespan of a Polaroid
wind spilling in the lungs lou reed dies on twitter
what’s sadder than reducing art to real life
I love the way life moves a fly above a hole another
undefeated sunrise purple champagne liberating the
macabre party faces culture is loneliness bathed in color
people growing their limbs into each other a wrecked
bird with its dark mouth I’m sorry I loved you until
we were no longer perfect a puddle of soda like street
gasoline feeling is coping selfies and their dead ends
when my heart goes nuts I’m a different person sincere
budding in the mud of a ripe summer I like the feeling
of escape in living the black light moon thrusting its
blood through a fence in the sky
some of the things I love demised the torn firmament
bloating over the stabbing grass my body pees out what
it doesn’t want tight smoke asphyxiates the city we enter
our day’s loss intact black lipstick in the springtime
all terror is cumulative it’s profound how much of myself
I lend to what’s not there the milk of a dream the habit
of pills I hasten to make an endless altar of every ending
a blossom that never concedes to itself I dedicate this
pretty life to a better one
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