the soul is numbered into a cohesive pattern. graphed for the mathematical masterminds and swallowed by the sea. it is drawn on earth-colored paper and taped to backs; for no one has the right to see their soul or steal it, just to roll it in mud or take it off when they feel overdressed. she's always overdressed for you but strays, too afraid to slip her hands down, over, off. she replies with tiny licking phrases and sheathes her eyes behind a clear mask. so useless. so so ashamed. to blame. we blame you.
talk is nothing but meal to fill the empty stomachs of air. we make it fat with nonsense and diseased desires. the others are just fifteen and free to dream, so free. free attaches to falling in a revolution of seconds and we are the most captive prisoners of all.
you have sweet dreams of tongues slipping down your throat, of medicine. i live to trail your insides but die to move beyond skin. barriers break our chemicals down to singular strands of written codes read only by nature. i am falsely yours and you thin my blood to water.
she is of sex and stairwells, angular walls of hip bones cutting sheets. you are only all the streets(sheets) we sleep under and ride for just one night, cold from metal and chewy rubber.
limbs darken with all the world.
i will walk away.
ordering themselves to ripe instability, they comment on the luster of the girl. of you.
it inches so heavily down your thighs. rots in the corners of your mouth.
thoughts of you make you spit and gag.
serious and fuming,
acidic and onfire.
break us for nothing.
the road telescopes your heartbeat and all our paper souls
so malleable to the wind.
until, with one glistening crystalline gust,
pulls the tapered binding from our backs, and now
we live as we please.
always, always free.