Whispers

I stab my tongue through the lips of this world whilst armies whisper inside of me...

I can be a saviour to everyone but myself
I’m wicked in the way that dolphins are
I’m unable to lose faith I’ve never had
I’ve white lines on my wrist that don’t look like cocaine
I inhale your hate to tattoo my blood
I’ve seen death and kept my sight
If I could unfurl this thinking mud,
who would be dead, who would be blind?

Dreams are my blanket, love-lost my sheet,
my body an extortion of fleshy thought
What grade of thunder writes these words?
We’re all undone, only numbers crying to be number one

I traded ambition for the hope of love,
and love violence’s life into distraction:
“Smile when I rape you, then it won’t feel so bad”
(but angels don’t spread their legs for common infections)

I cannot fuck myself to understanding
or dissolve questions with knives unbuttered
Conversations are cemented with lies
I’m the Outcast, wettened with truth

My passage is silent to gods and pigs
I don’t need the sun when I’m proud with matches
There’s tragedy in the presentiment of souvenirs
Sweets should never be sharpened

I stab my tongue through the lips of this world
whilst armies whisper inside of me.

Image by Christian Supik (Fotografie) + Manuela Supik (Design).