i.
Ivory barrel cocking glass, a remnant of shedding wings as Erica’s bullets tore weeping song through and through. Then the misty suffocation of bullet powder soon after, biting decay in harmonic rays. Ben didn’t know what she envisioned or what she sought, shooting deadly in the lurking toothless hot. Bullseye, bullseye, bullseye.
Do you see anyone? He’d asked once, 16, 15, 14. Years ago, barely a fawn prancing through weed bare lawns- curiosity lining the stilt of beshawled wants. See what? 18, 17, 16. Erica’s siren murmur, lulling stagnant in pulping oceans along god’s forever hymn. Spies, tripping between superstition and the habitual urge of running, flying. Like her bloodied satin bullets. Uh, envision the people you hate-, when you shoot? Something like that? He felt her eternal dissatisfaction like branding wine- cherry sinew, reddened glass mosaics staining- ichor arrows dribbling across silky expansions of trembling time. Oh. No, I don’t.
But maybe she did: shooting so relentlessly now: tissued air fleshing as she cut clear. Erica was a reanimated corpse, pearl kissed and mist supple, wind blown bone echoing through the loss of relief. Mania swaying those rippling tides, reigning a ice cold fury in her two eyed right.
Was it Joshua she saw? His arching lip, feline ribs. Standing in the middle of her deadly mist. Ben could recount, memory flowing and fingerless, the spidering hitch of silvering limbs- prosthetics- fury scabbed and euphoric as he fell off an eternal cliff.
A lyre of pity souring in lighting greed. Gee.
Or maybe it was her own perfectionism she sought, driving shattered shrapnel in ecstasy within the porcelain skull, fracturing a dawning blue: eternal dissatisfaction.
Ice queen.
In look of her forever lost crown, pursuit of godly need.
ii.
Murray Hill: embossed with petaled smoke, veining in taunt or haunt, Ben couldn’t tell. His obsession with green, a hissing minx- found Ben confused for a blank bleary majority. Chipping fingernails, numbed and anger chewed; scattering the world around as he disappeared within his citrus walled mind. Weeding everglades, a broken promise. Or two. Three. Etc. He popped his gun and grinned with gold, a blinded man in search of truth to behold.
But then there was a more honest boy- contradictory and thoughtful- veiling Ben’s floating glare; whipping though the plains of disquiet and endless high. Borderline auburn mop, shifting silent as he watched the world above. What do you think it’s like to truly live? He’d breathed, lacing upon Ben’s neck like need. Murray smiled, no glistening sun- but rather yellowed whites as he bared something gentle and alive in his word. Ben hadn’t known how to answer then.
He kind of knew now.
Murray, why did you leave? Living isn’t greed.
iii.
Perfect union.
Ben didn’t know what the hell that was, couldn’t try. Two lovers smeared along his adolescent haze. None that stayed. This broken fawn wasn’t worth the wait, anyway.
They bared their guns, took temple to temple aim, watch me stutter on these useless legs. Murray’s unknown eyes, shifting to face the shadowing right. Face aflame- unknown- angered like a unmasked dame. Brazen pool of hospital lights, waking in star crossed midnight. Something like (love and) hopelessness etched into these eyelids: two lovers, smeared.
With unknown need; a godly greed. Searching for something inherent and true, bruising the veining heart black and blue.
Useful, yes, until the fawn loses it’s hue.
Ice queen, there’s one more possibility, I think.
When you shoot- do you see me?
…
how did this even get angsty😭🤦♂️
this is so bs but ykw I’ll bite the bullet because perfectionism is not the way an artist lives! and anyways I have to get used to sharing work so this is double exposure
if you’ve read this far sorry if it’s confusing to understand/if there’s any errors😬 I burned this up at 1 am as shitty practice and then skimmed it quickly this morning b4 posting🫠
baring through the cringe of this
lots of love ss community! You guys are so niche and awesome!