I am bored stiff as a 
placement of bone on
careful wiring at the 
museum crime scene. 

This is what happens 
when rigor-mortis sets 
and my daydreams fall
to atrophy. 

Veins will shrivel into
tightly wound coils
that no amount of
preservative could

Spindly fingers freeze
into permanent claws,
heart bathing in a jar
of formaldehyde. 

– B. 


I look around at the flames
engulfing these ruins and
I only feel a calming hum 
strike the phosphorous 
of my lungs. 

No one is fireproof

The world will always act
up like a child who wasn’t
invited to a party I never
chose to host. 

It’s true that nothing in life
can last forever but that also 
goes for all the good things it
offers as well,

Doesn’t it?

– B. 

Shifting Tides

Sometimes this skin feels
tight around my organs,
my lungs burst into ash,
my veins shrivel into coils. 

Sometimes my lashes weigh
with the weight of a black
sea brimming behind the 
winter solstice of mascara. 

Sometimes these words fall
like sand through my fingers. 
An hourglass stopped up by
memories lost in the tides 
of a life better worth 

– B. 

Family Ties

Labyrinths weaving 
twisted twines of
promise spindling
a webs of lies,
And darkness creeps
behind the tides of
murky depths,
This salted brine,
a weightless tomb,
a life declined,
In hidden eyes
of a passerby,
there’s no more
not one more
nor any reason
to call you

– B. 


The cobwebs mask the brilliant intricacies
of these bannisters, each a story untold. 
A regal elegance in a palace of haunts, 
the smell of wax permeates down a
shifting spiral staircase. 

Careful not to lose your footing

These monsters awaken on impulse. 
Though the blood from the wounds 
could be masked as fine wine, the
stability of the foundation is sturdy
as a house worn in age of the dead. 

Be careful what rooms you try to enter,
Or what creature you poke and prod,
My doors only unlock for those worthy
and if you try to lie in the bed I made
without invitation,

I will become your worst nightmare. 

– B. 


I’ve no time for the salt
of your finger
Swirling in the cocktail
of my own mind,
Polluting it with blindness
to humanity and
Neglect of aspiration for
something better. 

I’ve no time for the slobber
of stupidity or
The chase of matter-less 
matter and 
Classless titling in a profession
of corruption.  

I may be a monster, but I can
sniff you out
before you could ever lay a 
hand on what 
I deem worthy of this evolution. 

A fair warning,
I will obliterate you before you
get the chance 
To hand over your glass lined
in ketamine. 

– B. 


The way in which the 
dampened leaves 
stick to the bottom 
of my boot,
Reminds me of 
cadavers in the 

The way in which the
children hide away 
behind clever disguise,
Reminds me of 
the reality in all

The way in which the
breeze crisps in a whip
of fury against my back,
Reminds me of 
the loss of my

– B.