It seemed my deepest
fears were rooted,
in tarot cards and false prophets.
When the electric shock
moved through you like a razor blade,
and the lights flickered,
I knew my kind, the lackluster bloodline,
had come to visit- just a polite hello and a shadow.
I could shape into
anything you needed,
felt my teeth stretch,
ache to pulse,
into the nearest shivering astral scream.
Particles moved on a whim,
but I knew better than that,
the game was an illusion
to distract from the lunar eclipse
that kept us shuffling on-
heads to the concrete:
not that a fucking person was paying attention anyways.
The night watchers
fell asleep,
lulled to sleepwalk
by the sleazy piano man.
It gave me headaches
to play the same cards
over and over-
boring and dishonest,
when I was ice burning,
the battle of spiritual
awakening played out
in my head every night.
I dreamed of tortured strangers,
Jack the Ripper nights in London,
angels falling-
and Alice forever tumbling down the rabbit hole.
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