Curtains folded in a line

Corridors blemished

You’ve got that liquid look

Silently slimy from your head down to your toes.

Footprints down the hall

Hatchet carried

About to fall

Flesh split

Spine twist’d.

You’ve got that black ribbon on your neck

Curtains folded on the bed

Fishing line tied

Ribbon down your sides

You’ve got that blood.

You’ve got the rhythm of the dead mask,

ghastly like a haunting in the backside of Texas

planted underground with their chords cut out.

You’ve got that skinny dipping liquid skin

so tight he’s gonna wish he never kissed it

Razors on the inside

Out,

of venom.

Throw it out the drop top.

Wheels never screeching,

so they never make a mark.

Silently blessed it.

The Holy Spirit doused in red.

Led you to a brothel.

Gold upon eyelids.

The Cruces of this story

Are underneath the bed frame.

Glasses lacking champagne,

Fang deep in penetration,

Within the firelight is the serpentine

The 16th element is all about us.

Girl by the bridge moulded

with this feeling of ambivalence.

But it’s just like

Room 1404

The one with the ribbon on the door.

It’s you on the floor

Balls deep

To separate us

Blindfold.

Prepared to make it out alive

Thousand spins of motion sickness

You feel the body

You feel the skin

Heel pressed into your ribcage

Bondage.

Liquid leather

Wrapped around your neck.