Something splintered in her head. Shards, onyx, bursting outwards, daggers and knives, feeling as if they poured from her eyes crisscrosscutting, the soul in the ocean blue, eviscerated.

Likewise, the birdcage where she kept her heart shattered like broken glass, shredding it like so much meat, crushing pressure inwards — she was sure her chest had collapsed in the train-wreck twisting rail singularity.

He tore her sleeve heart and threw it to the floor. I don’t love you anymore I don’t love you anymore I don’t love you any–

His wicked grin, serpent sly, toothsome and venomous. Heel turn, hand clasp opium fiend fuck-friend in clutched close. Off to fly with the vultures, looking for an easy piece of meat puppet. The devil claimed what it was due, promising houri angels and unbearable lightness.

Her hands on her prison, she read the tag “Drink Me”. Tags had lied before and she was tired of following protocol, with her heart lay bleeding there on the floor. And yet —

Bottle raised, lips cloying stickiness malt and bitters, Frenzy spoke rusty nails, and told her to put the bottle down. And so she did.

Frenzy spoke to impermanence, clinging; embracing the former, releasing the latter. Dark, light, the nightfall between. And, for a spell of silence watched before her obsidian wings took to the wind, croaking.

She watched the flight, looked clenched at hands, dark blood welling between fingers and looked inside.

Her heart.


So she chest-hold it close so it could fill her within.

The sky laughed so as to shatter stone.


This is another prose/poetic exploration trying to twist the conventions around a bit. I find that memories are often very different from the actual event and I’m trying to capture some of that present moment chaos in a semifictional event.

In other words, I’m being a pompous twit.

But really, my main goal is to try to stretch language and convention because I firmly believe writer’s ultimate goal should be to pound on language until it evolves into the next thing — which, of course, often looks awful in the present moment, but occasionally devilishly clever only in retrospect (and only if successful).

At any rate, I’ve likely not been successful at this experiment, but at least you know my motivations.

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