1. |
Assurance
03:37
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There is no solitary reason, no morality at play. There’s no soul to be burdened. A lamb to the slaughter, my body your wool; a meal of mutton, a dye for your paint.
You’re scraping in my ears like insects. You’re a chrysalis, a burgeoning of rhetoric. You adore me out of spite, to see what love feels like. I’m a battery, a tool, a carving knife, fuel for our rubber tubes, our substitute nerves. A parasite; a willing host; an offering; a married life.
You’re still in my veins and travel the pathways. We’re two cloven halves soldered together, and I can’t recall what I felt like without these instruments carving my insides. You give your assurances, but I’m the one who helms.
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2. |
Mourning
04:37
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Temper your brass hands and press into my chest. A Hollow for us to rest. I pulled the rebar from your chest and felt the spiral reaching downward, bore shaped wound left open. You write indices, a reference of thorned gates. Like crowns in our hair, the pin in your brain.
And I knew your name before my own, you wrapped me in cotton when I couldn't stop the flow. Clasped in your palm, my ivory idol. You begged me to stay, but I can't stop running from this. I feel the dirt grinding into my skin, from a cold autumn day in the rain. I'm mourning myself like I always did, cut over bruises and guilt on my wrist. Abandoned in water is what I intended. Living an epilogue ever since.
You wrapped me in cotton and dragged me through the snow. Flavoured wine with honey, we'll drink to us for eternity.
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3. |
Bestiary
06:55
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The beasts may rise and bay at the wind and converse amongst themselves in circular shape. I still see spokes between their teeth. Pondering birds and counting each barb, I feel my bones hollow in sympathy. I've been more than you-- I am so many things. You can kiss my neck, a side for each of your tongues, and slip in with saccharine words and crave how my pulse tastes; I would never deny any of you. But all you do is gather dust in that room, smelling of smoke and flipping the same pages through, like you'd forget how to be useful if you stopped to look through the door and see the land we were born with.
I know I'm contentious, and you act unamused. But we all laughed together once. We used to be something new.
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4. |
Form
03:30
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5. |
Turning
06:11
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6. |
Throat
06:13
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We were once at bay. For what purpose? What end were we chained? Crawling out of the loam, clay crusted fingers when I first saw the rain. This was your promise-- some fucking colours in the sky? I've seen them all and more.
We're the same canvas, you and I. A narcissistic project, a vain self portrait, giving us but two tired eyes. And I'll make the water so deep that neither you nor I can stop it. Lovingly close my lips with hands like mine and draw that sword across my throat. There's nothing hopeful here.
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7. |
Horses
05:07
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When the moon sets, its silver lining blotted by the rays of mourning, a cipher somewhere is understood. The meaning clear, as I feared, and what I hoped for. It's dawn and dawning, house flayed by thin artisan blades. Exsanguination turned to resin, raised up skyward, a meagre offering.
I should be drawn and quartered! I'll bind the ropes myself! And flog those horses! I'd bury myself if only you'd ask! The heat and sand is turning skin to leather. This grimace is a smile of joyful resignation. And if there's something beyond this world, don't look for signs that could be me.
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8. |
Hairshirt
03:29
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9. |
Inchoate
04:14
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10. |
Gate
03:32
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11. |
Pitch
04:43
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A cloying vivisection; alone, a fingernail of distance, a gap we'll never bridge. Our muscles contract and beat arhythmically. No singular backbone as pillar, no wandering coalition of thought. A mass of hair and bile creeps underneath the mantelpiece. Behold what's left of our allegory!
Our dearest one, our greatest gift, the tragedy of becoming into being:
Your inheritance is the husk of us. We were bound together, wrapped in chorded ligament. A resting place of ichor and chartreuse shell rusting. Should've known how intwined, you and I. You're the wicker woven intricately around me.
We won't get what we want. What is it that you want?
Behold what's left of our allegory: an avatar of whipping, dripping pitch.
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12. |
Bonehouse
04:39
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13. |
Tableau
04:38
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14. |
Tongues
05:19
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15. |
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