Comedown

He aims the camera at his face
like a microphone, eyes over-engaging
With the machine, dragging out
Fertile desperation, teen vanity.

Comedown.
Carry Me Elysium.

His hair whithers my usual bouquet
Of metaphor, tawdry, lace, webs
Slumped across the wire,
Plasticine and puerile, inanity.

Comedown.

Carry Me Elysium.

Him, a completed state, Myself
A space, which he, to fill, expanding,
Detonates, hydrogen flares along
The aurioles of my tepid, wanting heart.

Comedown.
Carry Me Elysium.
Please.

I light a candle for every cell,
I lay hymns to futures
At the screen porch of this constellation,
A centaur's fugue, I'm forced by my hand, alone.

Carry Me Elysium.
Please.

My skin more wax than porcelain,
The morning drips meringue in
Chunks of amiable bored regret;
Nothing but to hope, my face.

Carry Me Elysium.
Please.

Myself a space, he an iron lung
For the admiring vapours, making
Up atmospheres in crazed, damaged brushstrokes,
The canvas walls of my expanding state.

Carry Me Elysium.