equilibrium, illumination

dear diary,
my sweetest r.

the pillars of our stories:

1. the pearly gates, inventory:
ivory altar, wooden crucifix, lead cup silver shining, silk linen, sudden bloodshed
the smell of: bleach wings burning oceans methane iron and peroxide
2. relaxation by emitting light, a photograph like memories retracted from a raging inferno.
3. morning sorrow: fold your wings around anything anyone,
freeze in mid air, never take flight again.
4. with the face of an iceberg: to hover over marble floors, the great auditorium soaked in petrol
countdown - minutes before a devastating strike of insanity, a match lit in a gas tank
5. body found in bathtub: smooth, statuesque, the piercing silence guarding hollow cries
your breath dripping with venom (nothing can cure you now).
6. in blind flight, the ugly woman’s long longing hands, like a tornado around her, a
metallic dress drenched in sweat, her scenes played out in between your tender thighs, mademoiselle serendipity,
a throbbing tumour, embarrassing in her extravagance.
7. refraction: the theory of the bending of light rays, the harsh illumination of your polished skin,
golden spheres and silver scales, a black cat’s pilgrimage over the siberian tundra
8. nightfall: deep emerald skies, shaded windshields, clouds slowly sweeping from one hidden haven to another.

this is a fortress built on not trust but hypnosis
i am your loaded gun,
i am your crystal.


  1. once i asked you
    "what are your interests?"
    and you were probably a bit drunk because everybody was (pub life) and you glared at me kinda sideways like you always do and said
    "the complex shape of cysts."

    and you wore your braids like wednesday addams.

  2. i remember like it was yesterday, my sweet,
    what a pretty little liar i was!

    and i shall see you soon, promise.
    flying to london soon enough (NYE).
    much love, anonymous.