The only thing that gets caught
in a single strand of web
is fluttering sunlight.

Banded together though...
Quite the prize,
full of flies.

We need to go
a little faster,
a little faster.

Downshift and mat it,
**** the redline.

Bleed black,
sweat oil.

Hold on,
hold on to me.
There'll be turns
and twists.

Hearts will sync
with the revs.

Vibrant orange puddles
sprout and wilt,
time washes over me.

A tide is pulling
the blankets down.

Love is scribbled
in the corner
of an old textbook.

A tide is pulling
the curtains down.

The moon peeks through
on a sunny afternoon,
and my eyes smile.

A tide is pulling
us further apart.

Quick, man.
It goes ****-ing quick.

Woke up today
about thirty,
even though
I fell asleep
about twenty-five.

It's slippery,
your boy needs traction.

Sick of spinning my wheels.

It goes quick.

The demon is singing again
and I find myself humming along.
It's the same rhythm it's always been,
it's the same familiar song.

The demon is singing again,
swimming in the fugue.
Amber, green and clear glass,
drowning it in blues.

It's too late.

Can you not see
that the pages are full
but the soul is empty?

It's too late.

I'm tired and dead
from wishing all these wishes
that're racing through my head.

It's too late,
it's over you fool.
Don't bother submitting.
Don't go back to school.

Conscious is deafening
as the sun sets.
Sleep, please.
I beg of it.
Hide my head
under my pillow again.
I'll do it tomorrow.
I promise.