the violent seams      of Polter beam.

disguised in a vanquished fury.

i look up to the absence of love. a proportionate glow that flickers an empty me…

and if only i could embrace, that of a tender mold, i would surely feel myself.

a dedicated mechanic of melting wax. liquified within the cracks.

this position alters me and i writhe in a beam.

shifting seams.

i’m now a gold metallic.