Transmission By Gaslight

Foam curdles around lips that gape from airless lungs.

Substance welled up from eyes gone cold.

The days we were young the convenient cash grab that warm pockets, the silver lining struck gold.

Buried in shallow graves the children no one wanted kept as pets that never turned pennies just rotten, formless mold.

Hold us high in your vibes, the pictures you scatter we never grow old.

Always the catacombs ready to mascot the ghost of a good mood.

Worthless is our name.

Discouragement is our game.

Don't set the china for us as our trophies are just used dirty paper plates.

Hollow out our eyes to make room for your reflection.

Polish mine up real nice, I want to see the butterflies you give yourself.

Cut off my fingers, wrap me in dirty sheets, drive me to the nearest lake, and discard me in broad daylight.

Foams curdles around out here in the drink.

Discontent is always my hobby, such a disappointing mistake.

Set fire to my name.

Throw my memory in.

Confetti.