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Benzene

I desire only sleep,
in the absence of dreams.

I desire to feel membranes of skin
grown over punctured lungs,
I desire the scent of foreign imaginations,
and as I reckon these wants
needs, feels
your tongue bleeds steel.

Glancing through prisms distorting
the messages encoded in my mind
by drowning in red wine.

And as we fall weightlessly through infinity
I can see the hollow scarlet moon
echo in your spine.

I desire only to weep
in the absence of the color white
the absence of color itself,
the absence of mental health.

Fatigued, on fire, and totally at ease
I tread the ground as
my footsteps freeze.




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