Your life is a lie.
The sweet whisperings of your mother
And the smoky crackle of the fire
Are but illusions;
Illusions of a high and ****** up child.
There is nothing but your own naked mind,
Your own dull eyes.
Nothing but your imperfect body and your raw tongue.
Do not fool yourself;
This is not a dream.

Do not get lost
In your metaphysical ramblings.
Do not allow your stars and galaxies to blind you.
Lovers fall like dynasties and last longer.
Their words and laughter and cheap smoke
Cling to the walls of forgotten tenement houses
Just as your tears and punished blood stain the pages of your notebooks.

I am a writer.
I have seen this poison drowning my mind
Since that first orange dusk.
I am lucky.
I am youthful and wide-eyed in my innocence.
But I watch my seconds bleed
Into the ***** glass beside my bed;
Seconds that lived for writing
Seconds that died for life.