A Room Piece Of Your Throat Poem by Charcoal Bullet

The rivers of indistinct words
Freshed from my throat
Tortures of opposite merges
Search for my teeth in a destiny envelope

I - such charm in these flickering boxes
But something else whines...
I - such charm in these smart syringes
But I still wish to live...

Turn me inside out
After all keys of a grand piano are black...
I among you, but already only horde
All of you for me, but are mute...

I - a pain wrong side in this desire to recede
It is deformed by tenderness traps
Touch seeds of my negligibility
Touch me and feed with sand


I - an allergy sign to vanilla treacle
It is closed and decanted in patterns of lines
The absinthe fog which has tightened clouds
I have become covered by soot of own precept

I a current of guard hypnotic skirts...
Ball of a rusty dazzling wool...
Indifferent, but the elaborate mongrel...
Quick-witted, but dying ring...

I - a room piece of your throat
I am a rope-walker of your most thin dreams
The maximum effect from needle introduction
I bear you on the hands made of rainbows