I'm beginning to sit back now, listening to my sorrow felt lit cigarette solace falling through my damp heart where only creaky doorways with blown out windows play natural rhythms that echo in this caged bone graveyard,
and i look up at the plain white ceiling, seeing only transparent stars falling from there colossal watchtower onto my pale face and through my wet hair like salt in a great ocean.
I'm beginning to drink my water now, as i lift the glass from its polished wooden home, a warm sensation flows down the right side of my arm, remembering, pitying, thinking,
and like Beethoven i can think only about the comedy of this great play, able only to softly laugh while tremors shoot through my body like heroin fly's through the veins of the addict.
Ill be lying down now, my gentle carpet covered floor will give birth to an angel forever dormant, trapped, a remnant of my hearts ballad, with its modest melody made of shallow dreams and the confinement of its cruel orchestra.