words by dominic riccitello

we’re twirling beneath clouds of lips and lies
tangling by a grip of divine youth in our past
i’m dancing in gardens of hell
blacking to a beat and stripping bones of men i defeat
 
i tell lies
you’re screaming otherwise
i’m in night crying to a tune of a beautiful man
screaming twice and you ask why
nothing makes sense
 
i twirl because i’m spinning in rhyme
to a thought of hellbent
he’s like a theater and i’m pulling the curtain
to feel emotion of someone who stands there
 
lying before his hands in might
emotions ensue and i’m screaming voodoo
his lips misconstrue
words we said
a dance we had
 
i’m slow dancing in his living room
in form of a ghost in a shape of sheet
i tattoo his voice on my lungs
it echoes in hell
where i stood
the first time his grip met my hand