no branches on the rings of saturn (ransacked) by gliitchlord, literature
Literature
no branches on the rings of saturn (ransacked)
clearing my windshield, shimmer of frost breaks dawn’s back; i saw you in perilous machinations. tact, what a ribbon of snow on the lap of goddess. sat. searing my eyesight, snapping at cursed rods and cones; kiss off then, you radical. rapt, i believe in you. stammering, posturing, gasps with a grip that can only find lack. hold back.
missed you. we met, dry as your mouth, gauze gazes and bloodless, broad gestures and closed doors. when a want is measured in small breaths and broken bones, quite a fire follows. missed you when i worked my way up, turned the heat up, turned your eyes; when i whimper i know you and i can do this. for a time missed your delight in me, drew my strength from your hands, silk on a damned exit wound. when i wander out, you can't stand. for all we planned and destroyed, these ashes overflow. could have kept quiet, could have lived, but would have
how to pluck incisors (from a mouth and/or neck) by gliitchlord, literature
Literature
how to pluck incisors (from a mouth and/or neck)
leaden, all souls sift proper through parable teeth; i asked you to leave your key. you’re keeping the loved letters, ink down the cheek chafing, cut through the lesser, the left. reap so sweetly now, elbow jabbed in the maw of a greed we discovered; i begged it on knees to recede. it seems we’re eschewed as can be.
span of an evening, hour after our de- miserly flaws flailed, towering, towering, to- morrow we may ash; if asked we lapse, if aspiration could borrow from the past, perhaps. yet,
what is a king to a thumbnail? odd spacing and runtime errors; we are lost in avoidance. critical flailing of lost smolderings, once ashed, never satisfied. fried edging, when we come back, we continue to cry.
mashed up, it’s two beats that crashed, cut the aux, bring it back, break the lease, cuss and spat, speak at least one more touch into happening, stand closer, atrophy, damaged and master keyed, crack in the firmament to breathe through, keep you under rash inclinations, amass weight and fuck yourself. i can’t see saving myself, stuck. it may be dumb luck or maybe i’m just sick.
ai will never read me (solace in a microwave) by gliitchlord, literature
Literature
ai will never read me (solace in a microwave)
x ref'd and metafived to oblivion; it's liv that takes the blood and rivers it, i am simply an irritant. iridescent and virulent, veering from venerate to vidded. half a simi- leaking liquid depression on beaded sneakers: sweat, like love, leaves imago. data bred and breathing in huffs, posting too muffled to keep goated; wry wrote and dry spoke and i rope in a reed in snaps and ceremonial fumbling. fuck, i'm something again. good luck thundering on, you two i'd seg fault. funny how nothing spoken gets said.
patterns upon freshly-packed earth by gliitchlord, literature
Literature
patterns upon freshly-packed earth
cleverly cover me in cacophony; no noise like new noise and incessant slaughtering. of the past i have only echoes, errors in codependent coddling and coughing-up-of-truths. winds fast as years whip the visage, we—as the missives—weep in willowing speech and stuttered stabs. infection in the memories blossom into debt. and as ever you watch your step.
i. as the era turns, ragged as a hoarse throat, you keep crushing glass into medicine; draught after draught, administered raw as dawn's trauma, imbibed. bite me, have back some shatters i've welcomed through my veins. cuts in eloquent patterns, splayed forearms and vague ii. iii. as a seraphim churns writ to wrath, i keep coursing micro- plastics into passionless draft after draft. stirring rash wrists dramatically, inside and out. in time, your matter unspun a danger non-concentric. now stunned, awakened.
i. from the bones sown, rise now as pried aether. lie anchored to no lacerations; beat heart bleeds a rhythm in rivulets. ii. from the broken be brighter, prized epithet. higher, wisened arrow, fly dangerous through window and sinew. iii. from now on, be sharpened. for i cannot be.
moon, whispering moans. slide slowly from collarbone to pleading; the gravity a throne can exert. give my back an arch, give up darling or i’ll choke a star from your lapse. softly now, my eclipse.
teenage primordial wasteland (lonely hope) by gliitchlord, literature
Literature
teenage primordial wasteland (lonely hope)
i.
kicking off the extra blanket,
i try to dissolve into a sea
of worlds-without-hearts.
i feel like a hearth
without wood, a symbol
of comfort left vacant
when the spark finally
consumed.
i twist the top sheet
around my shattered ankle,
wish it anchored me
to a crushing seafloor.
once, we were more
than a void.
ii.
fourteen felt a lot
simpler, sixteen near triumphant,
but eighteen stabs
through every interosseous possibility.
what does it even mean
to be me?
iii.
fold the extra blanket, set it
at the foot of the bed,
smooth it out, sit down
cross-legged on the floor.
look around, feel surrounded
by the past. how did i
become this
diff
show me your neck, i’ll show you how resentment is grown: slowly, darkening skies, crashed cars, and skinned bones. i won’t mean it, i’m known for nothing less than deception; validate at reception, get the app on your phone. new carpet bombing at home, radicalized internal design, infernal pries open your eyelids. alone. show me respect, i’ll throw you into a tenet that won’t be upheld, camcorder up on the shelf, pull tape out to hang death’s knell fast upon the mirror. it’s hell to rewrite giver as irrelevant shell. i pick slivers of breath out of my self, what good is a word if it’s held sideways like chin tilted, beckoning. tell me your name again, i fell asleep drunk on your nape.
perhaps love is meant to end. love opens one's eyes and mind to hope, validation, presence; meaning should exist before, during, after else one be lost in a sea of throwing-up-hands and mirrors smoked. tears are choked back often, smeared journal entries erode over time to be faint scars; we are libraries of guilt and apprehension stacked past icarus' wonder. once your fangs grow you're in the bite, only right to taste a throat or two before you file them away like wildflowers between pages of a book you will bury in dust. perhaps love is meant to remind us of kindness offered, of striving to be more, of how we know ourselves when we feel blessed, of coughing up beauty like stars aligned with expectations. and then, as a candle at dawn, let go.
lover there are too many truths
brimming in you, eager;
even when you inhale there are mercies
spilling over bright, split lips
like water from an eclipsed moon
or the side of a martyr,
you bloom with grace.
let me lie
deep in your garden,
brooding forever in lilac kiss.
showered in petal lace
ivy deep in the veins,
you grip each ending
nerves full aflame.
lately, i
sleep while you
wander.
i.
in the morning i
wretch, bed vomits me
out, feet sabotage and
catch, head orbiting
doubt.
i'm eager but
quickly repressed,
steps into the dew
soon find themselves
stretched, failure etched
devoutly into coralled
ankles. i recite the scars,
honest liturgy of daily
dread, what of me should i
forget and what should i
assault?
ii.
around the corner you
mention me, sparing
no detail. i failed you
in glaring verb omissions,
my loss glowing crisp
in every touch.
i am not much;
it is no secret to me.
i've watched it be prayed
with heaves, heard it
be cursed in eves, felt it
recoil. what worth has
the toil of an unwanted
burden?
iii.
in the sun
the order of the undulating by gliitchlord, literature
Literature
the order of the undulating
i.
it is the snap of a vein
devoting blood to the surface,
worshipping air as release
before quickly bowing in service
to harsher things;
i've felt the canines' impact,
it never fades.
i've yet to break my holy back
but i have strained.
there's a wrist that i'd never snap
but when the bark twists blades
i call it grace.
ii.
it is the snag of avenues
devoid of budding incursions.
your lip and hair are in breeze,
your wick is blowing, imperfect,
your stars estrange;
no telling how the skies react
to the rearrange.
you better mistake no action
for dismay.
don't wish for an epitaph
but when the dark invades
it'll call your name.
iii.
it isn't
ex tension (gliitchmix) by gliitchlord, literature
Literature
ex tension (gliitchmix)
rewrit, i
scrape my bones
in new scripts.
dizzied by
the depths
of my thighs,
i'm prone to stretch
out from quasar
to anomaly.
i depress
your facets. you sleep
sounder than ever.
click your cheek, lip,
scars, and former glories
all.
you sleep,
and my sound
is full of mnemonic waves.
they crash on me,
clawing at my hull
and calling me down,
bidding me
drown.
you are
asleep, love.
my wrists
cannot escape
your nuisance.
how sweet are
your echoes
in the tomb
of my chest.
hands together when i kneel by gliitchlord, literature
Literature
hands together when i kneel
i may not be much
but swear to christ i'll level you.
cut your teeth on me
and drink devil tongue
when we kiss.
unsettle your desperate itch
and lace your ligaments;
i will swallow you
within an inch
and own it.
i'll be bearing mary
up until the twist,
then rectify my wandering eye
with touch
of lips.
locked, you exist
to please me.
hey newton, gravity's flawed by gliitchlord, literature
Literature
hey newton, gravity's flawed
i.
starting anew from the flutter
and the sputter of lungs.
a vacant sea filled with feathers
and tumultuous clatter,
ribs in a treacherous pattern
resembling exiting rungs.
i want to wrestle the angels,
your tendency is the ladder.
ii.
involved with full indiscretion,
trading lazy for lace.
unspool the curse of the long-
itudinally inflected.
limbs in a languorous flexion
ultimately misplaced;
i like the stab of the ankles,
you need the curves intersected.
iii.
opting to cull my extents
with trans-dimensional vigor.
spent my dysphoric corrections
on reconnecting lax ends.
lips in a spurious accent
feign a passionate rigor.
i tie myself to
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