boards too thin, I trapped myself into safety
a swollen gutter, a stinging sanctuary
but it changes shape and forgets its creator
the whole harvest rots if the flood waters don't recede

but the mahogany blur takes form
specificity with all its white burn
a gaze I barely met, my one good friend
i watch the hemlock run from my veins and bestow itself unto him

i know she always had a word of warning
"keep your faculties clean, stay here with me
and bleach out all the brown that submerged all your white space"
but it's my own hand that's feeding me
and if I were to purge, what do you believe would remain with me and my "faculties"?
i suppose not even you would exist

can't take my medium away from me
beck and call is lost on wicked lucidity
it wells up in me

the door bursts open, tunnel vision sets in and surrounds
it's the ferocity of mania effusing out
a frantic scouring finds her crumpled to his seething breath
compassion interrupted by the brunt of it
you pushed my hand from the one thing it grasped at
declaration a barb pilling my focus
all this fabric was built to support you
for all the heat in your hands you never bothered to extend

now don't you try to get away from me
put down that telephone, who are you kidding?
you're not just going to abandon this

malice in motion, some hands thrust forth
a tangle of hair and nails is writhing underfoot
narrative has ceased, just swinging endlessly
a snarl of red and sound engulfs the entire scene
motion stops and the camera pulls back

formerly starved of catalysis
just sink me back into greyscale
whole body shaking and vision blurred
the devil finds work for my idle hands

the devil's workers are idle hands

the devil finds work for my idle hands and they won't feed me again