I have become a victim of my ingrained insecurities.

Picture a less frightened version of Lampwick in the donkey-morphing scene from Pinocchio.

I won’t miss you when you’re dead.

She holds the part of me
That nobody else can see
Her fist is jailed around my heart
And I’m the prisoner of its need

I’m silently exclaiming it right now: “Bewp!”

What might I tell the girl complicit in her own suffering?

At first I feel
Like I’m flying
To the moon
At last
I realize that I’m lying
In a tomb

Your chilled mosaic
Cool tincture, a moistened cheek
Anathema-free

Bingeing on shallow
Bottom-feeding plankton adds
Zero calories

Cover up, careless
Tuck away the hickey bites
Turtleneck Tuesdays

Platoon of shadows
Stalks phantasmagoric prints
Evidence amiss

Taurian partner
Honest heart, loyal and true
Mine to kiss; cherish

Shrive middlescence
Drooping countenance, years passed
Ululate youth; past

Standing at the edge
Contemplating life and death
No hesitation

Transcendent. Here it is, probably our last video for ‘We Need Monsters’, for a song called ‘Love’. It´s about an indian seamstress who is daydreaming during her work as a kind of cognitive survival strategy. It took us one year of production to film the different seasons. What I intended to express with this song […]

Take your lecher-leers,
Plus all my jeers,
And make a paycheck
At the very least.
Bleat-bleat, little sheep.

Mr. and Mrs.
I still want your soul with mine
Hands entwined like hearts

All the chaos encircles my neck
Like shackles they drag me
Down to his level
And hold me drowning underwater

Call me out.

For all the times
I refused to believe you,
Punish me
With bruising kisses.

I wanted to believe in you
From the moment I laid eyes on you
Though my heart tried to stop me
It failed to keep its chains around me

The color she picks is metallic purple. It reminds me of a skirt I used to wear to the club-of-the-week before I became legal. As she takes in every colorful detail of her favorite superhero cartoon, I paint her tiny fingernails more carefully than I’ve ever painted my own. I don’t tell her that one […]