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Sinking down

Its ripping off her smile

A second ordinal child

Of velvet wings

Carbon ghosts

Are coiling up her shift

Leeching clear bliss

From vexing speech

Black rust lungs

Shrive on the callous way out

Reduce milking down

To a count

Clotting clouds

Loom over her paper nest

White noise and death in tune

From carbon fumes

This isn't happening

Silent touches

Are frisking her for spares

Nourished by the scent of

Idle dark air

Mouths fringed with nails

Her weapon is her smile

Seasonal tears, a

Form of zero

Climbing – climbing up to you

Climbing – up to you

This isn't happening

Comatose – now I is see you

Morose – now I see you

Sore, like me, I'm sore

We're not really here, not really here