I am told I am destined for Better Things
My kismet
Sealed with a dry kiss
A drop of blood
And an eyeliner smudge
Whilst I am shattering infinite mirrors
And trampling
angel fetuses. My locus
a circle, in my
blind hunt for Better Things
You can't hear my scream through all this
cotton wool
and I can't see for blackness
I've saved in the past, a
Knight in Shining Armor
Now I am trapped
Armadillo fashion
In this woman shaped cage
They said I looked almost angelic
In my comet tailed
Star studded descent
Idiosyncratic in my lack of indifference
Diving for oysters
Holding Better Things
Now sitting in deaf icy stillness
Hand nearly frozen pen-shaped
Mind unable to carry these
Poetic abortions to full term
In order to cleanse itself
For the wait for Better Things
