I sat in contemplation and incoherence of the abyss,
before throwing myself completely
into the unnavigable filament of your waiting jaws

As barren angels slumped in warning and inaudible weeping
with my decent into your maddening crowded mouth, 

their silent choir of thoughts, 
all wailing in their minds assuring me that
I alone had created you from my own forests of trauma

I alone had mislabeled the magic of your  touch,
as ink flowed from unhealed scars and unconscious rivers
to create misconception and monuments carved from bone blood canvases,
decorated by your shimmering venom and crocodile promises

Your world is a mess of genitals and crotch-rot secrets,
offering no closure to the heady cadence of my spiraling sighs
as I plummet to oblivion

Sadness your only real joy, 
 will elevate you above itinerant makeshift hearts,

curved lips to the stars,
hallucinating adoration and saliva
from the starving words of poets
whom crave but cannot navigate
the secret maps of your eyes