Stars bend backwards onto beach
ribbons of milky haze imprint
sequined myth, a matchstick
scraped against harsh
surface. Peering at crumbling
universe like a neglected teddy
bear under the bed, twinkling lights
shoot across horizon,
invisible trigger.
But there is gun smoke -
hypnotizing, hazardous charcoal
flame (where is the bullet hole?)
twirling around fingers, souls.
Lung capacity exceeds limit, a
crimson balloon breathing in
false tales and torment;
thin shield about to break like an
eggshell in the tainted gutter
(be careful of weary pedestrians).
Internal apocalypse surging through
ardent veins like magma, suffocating
sentences and sunlight.
(Get out -)
tainted pain, haunted
face exposed, laughing as it melts
into the star-studded sand.
(I've found the entrance wound)