"If the whole state's sinking, you better grow some fucking gills."

[pallidamors]

I'm going to crack the sky when I jump.
Split my skull on the fish rib cages of the clouds.
Once in them I saw amethyst to pastel ruby wings forming in the west,
In the sunset.
But mine are clipped, I no longer fly, and the clouds are the bleached bones of ancient desert beasts.
The overpass. Don't pull over, I can feel it pulling to me.
(Calling to me!)
Who will pick up the spattered viscera, gather the limbs of Osiris?
Muse upon the king your brother's wreck and on his father's death before him.
The cars pass as a river, I cannot step into it twice.
The escape route over linked chains haunted by ghosts of graffiti writers and jilted lovers.



Hopefully this is not all too truncated or emo but I'm planning on editing it for content before attempting publication. It's part of a whole cycle of free verse that transists into fun and friendly iambs and hexameters. Criticism is welcome since I rarely edit my own stuff. What do you think?

 

[New]

I enjoy the tone of the piece greatly. Nice work.

 

[pallidamors]

I enjoy the tone of the piece greatly. Nice work.

Thank you sir or madam.

Based on your location, I can state that the title of the piece was based on a quote my friend told me about our state after I was complaining that "this land is all sand and seashells, and it will be buried under the sea."

I'm feeling a couple more cuervo shots, maybe then more to come.

 

[pallidamors]

Pt II: Karmassacre

"Knives out!!" comes the cry.
We flesh robots must always obey.
The cruel glint like a serpent's eye, and ours narrow in the alley lights, piss-colored, shit-strewn.
Dumpsers wach like muted dragons, with interest, but no desire to themselves give chase.
We ignore last calls, spike our own drinks.
We're a minefield in the civital soil.
Leave a pill on the nightstand, we'll be gone by sunrise.
Fearing the light, maybe we're telluric.
Tell it to the vampire hunters with us in their sights,
(and ours get so much better in bitter night).
Swerving towards curbs and other cars, we only check our sides to see if our hip flask's still there.
Our loves as cold as Colorado winter (from years before) or like the hollow holes where hearts once beat,
We swap stolen clothes, self-made stories, and laugh at the bodies we leave in our wake.
Over the top, and up out the trenches, we must charge once again.
Fix our veins and our bayonets.
Scream songs, sing destructions, we destroy the melodies we loved.

 

[Mehm]

very dreamy and mystical. you're a good writer.