A Collector of Highs

I’m a collector of highs
Like a note taking tick
Clung to the necks of crows
I am murders of knowledge
That comes only by scavenging
Through trash and old cigarettes
To find a shiny thing worth holding
I am the art of the cuttlefish

I sail on the hope of wilderness
And the power of sheer will
The adrenaline of jumping off
The grid for six months at a time
I am the warmth and the purr
Of my lover and splayed cat
I am the irony of bad movies
And improvisational acting roles

One of my favorites is the rush
Of playing music to a packed room
I am the dance of easy whiskey
Pure straightedge to the core
I am sometimes starvation
But mostly just way too much
I’m the ecstasy of the haloed dawn
And the warm blankie of junkies

I’ve always been a pair of dice
And a numerically solved equation
I’ll hedge on every one of my bets
I am wet dreams of psychologists
And the entertainment of zombies
I am Durer’s wan praying hands
And Rotten’s erect middle finger
Of winter and a pointing clock

I hide all my experiences
In glass cases under my skin
Crucified distilled butterflies
And their transformations
Like on my first acid trip
And the epic chrysopoeia
Of my golden calf into kill
A gift offered by wolves

Lying at your door




Words by: Cara Feral

Artwork: by MarnieWalks
Words: by Cara Feral