With the clocks aligned center
And the candles melting off my eye sockets
And the fingers of my lovers intertwining down my spine
And the thoughts of crows affecting the coffee that I spilled down the floorboards
And the mental images that blow through the TV screen
The imposition that breaks my messed up fingers,
pounded by misogyny that I named a hammer.
Greatness awaits the brunettes
And the fine
Unbeknownst to me,
There's nothing in my mind worth words.
There's nothing in my mind worth words,
Unbeknownst to me.
And there's nothing left in these nerves
And my bones decorate the walls
And my mind is plastered where my head lays
On my bed
And, oh, as tears leave the ceiling
Dripping on passersby
I silently hope
For unbecoming.
This was a product of deciding, *I'm going to write* and blaring music. I always love that exercise.