At the end of time, I will claim you.

It happens between steps 

Adam’s apple, surgeons aim

a thread

entering your jugular 

too small to see

you feel me grow inside of your throat 

preprocessing your air, 

I’m siphoning oxygen and i’m 

greedy. 

as. 

fuck.

all citrus fruits and sharpened things 

spiritual shrapnel

thirsty 

Now the air smells of ethanol

Skin licks lavender 

Your mouth the abrosia of storm

An electric bath

Charges upon charges

Reds are blooming out from their cages

Metal feels like cotton candy 

Smoke smells of cream and

Blood

Tastes 

Like 

Lightning