Somewhere deep inside
a well overflows
waiting
for the right one
to enjoy.

I want to rebreathe my own
air
trapped against your
neck
with your arm as a
pillow
and the other on my
hip.

This hair
longs
for your fingers
to swipe
and stroke
and tangle
with it.

Those gravestones on the bluff, a congregate of death,
All winding to the top, without a single breath.
Around the deadly blunt, each occupant is ******,
Their spirits, floating by, let out a mournful groan,
While maggots in their flesh do break their bodies down.
There in the dirt the bodies lay, becoming one with ground.

Rosin up your bow,
make it tug a little less.
Play the fiddle fancy
as you've played the fiddle blue.
Tune my tender heartstrings
to sound just as they should
A kind of deep vibrato
answering to you.

Ripped to little shreds
Scattered on the bathroom floor
And left for ***** ends.

Puffy white to periwinkle,
like tender bruises under
the eye.
Filled to the brim
  And
    Slowly
        Leaking
Onto the
Ground.