Related to one of my favorite lines: “come up with the fire, in the deadly 5th dimension pyre.” Here it goes:

 

it’s not blood staining your hand,

some ruby red lie that came up from the throat

to drown your world in all its sentiments,

I second guess every living thing in your veins,

When I waste away when I count days and struggle in the distance.

I resurrect every third day like some sort of deity,

only the thorns on top of my skull are the funeral drone of your aftermath.

I shake away and bleed, when the spear came to cut you deep,

and I saw angels burst from your skin, and the demons came to sin on your lips,

and  come from your mouth and cum from your mouth,

and envelope you in compressed thoughts.

I hold the lot of ticking time and I burn the bodies so the dead don’t speak our secrets.

I lifted myself from your rib-cage prison and dare ask your name on the release.

I often dismiss you when I’m drinking because you dismissed me in the shrinking feelings,

though they never shrink, they’re hidden some place, only the ghosts whisper their claims to that land.

I come up with the flame, and I spell your name as though this could be our engraved headstone,

of all the things that we were afraid to say, like some ritual that we lost the words to.