kira （希蘭）

undulating countenance, and yet again oblivion
when was it that our words became so mature?
subtle voice, subtle tension, the subtlety of how the very tips of your lips quiver

we descend from this bizarre world

nothing more to do or say, with no end, and the strangeness of that dream in which i continue to flip between the same pages
and the synapses of my frontal lobe begin their dance

that comforting rhythm will play no longer
worthless music, and worthless fashion

unfamiliar women seeking esoteric sensations

our tympanic membranes softly molested by scissors
and in that moment where our bodies were captured,
our very beings leave the room to which we were once confined

and as if our treasure-boxes were turned over and emptied,
no longer do we seek to escape from singing our songs that nobody else could hear

but, you already knew of my cowardice,
better than anyone i had ever known, or anyone i could ever know

our inevitable suicides that we were so ready to flee,
the willingness of our self-corruption in the pursuit thereof, the midnight sound of trains passing

and how we both laughed at all their voluptuous fashions, so far removed from our own

does the howling wind make it easy to see? the effort in which it is taking me to make but a single step?
and rather than save the world, we but bided the time until it split open before us,
and we soon followed.

deluded into the belief that perhaps the act of drowning itself would be our salvation,
until we could do not more than drown.

and the sound of fireworks in summer, how voices from all extant directions could be heard

how many times is it now?
that incessant beat, cacophony of melody
so obscene and lewd, how it slovenly flows and mixes

and girls of the city, forced to carry weapons
know not but fight or flight
humanity

gasping at the mere sight of the moon
feeling the teeth in my mouth which do not quite align

counting the days before another birthday

how many years has it been, or perhaps will it be?
and laughing, for without the microphone they are too weak to sing

from the heart