Dimmed light, dirt and walls of pain,
Long nights, mud and pouring rain.
He's buried in his thoughts
Wandering about among the towers
That rise from the mist.
Fingers entwine in his worried hair.
The seasons change as he crosses the street.
For now the traffic is but a crimson caravan.
Passerbies have neon heat disease,
Elephant talk goes over his ears.
He whispers to himself:
"Death is a birthright,
A torch burns
Not to keep the shadows at bay
But because it was lit.
Seeds and honey, milk and blood,
Let all the old words cease to rhyme.
By some reason cemetery gates
Are almost always only halfway closed.
My suspection device is active now."
He carries a boxful of sunset on a strap.
The mirror spits his image,
The glass is spilled
Like sparkling dew.
Human body parts fallout.
He's just a picture in my book.
And than mother brought brother
So I would clean his cut and soothe the pain.
His hand was frightened.
She said while leaving the room:
"Look, don't touch;
Cry, don't tell."
"She's partially right" I said.
"The bones in the ceiling can hear you,
They resonate with your cries.
So hush all lush
And maybe cut the cult out of culture
Maybe, again, using puncture
<During the last two lines my brother laughed loudly>
To become a lightning bridge" I finished.
He: "Will you show me your Rocket Book?"
I: "I can't show it to you today
But I can read the last note:
"It's a glass forest,
And she've cried my eye out.
Sorry that's all.
All else is either miskatonic or methademic.
Or drowned in a bayou.
<I wink again,
But you know,
Thunder roars not asking why
So don't let the envy of void
**** in your cruel joy.
The pity and the baffled
Suppress and fear savage savants.
Make your way
Right through the shards of glass
And their cracking will sing for you."
He: "But each one of them calls like:
"Name all the aimless thoughts in my head,
Number the countless stars in the sky,
Call my sole shadow for a dance,
Strip me of my armor and disguise."
I: "That's not more valuable
Than a **** if you want.
Though I can't deny
That at times
Morn's coy shimmer takes my voice."
Suddenly we simultaneously say:
"Forgive me, I was being foolish."