Morning vapors creep through every nook and split.

An infusion of rust and what once was...

Montone drumming of morning sickness.

4 chairs, one occupied the other 3 forgotten.


Nothing but white noise... and blank dots.

Fatal infatuation with the delusional abominations

shed out of the womb of the spirit.


bloodshot eyes clawing their stare into the walls..

Fingertips tasting the past as they caress your lifeless body.

What about the children? Our children?

My nostrils feel the warmth...

And the smell of decomposed remains...


My head creaks down and my sight drowns in the pool of blackness i see in a cup...

Simultaenously comes a laugh and a cry..

At some point all life will die...

The blackness gazes further into me.. and i drink

from my cup of coffee...

Black, no sugar, no milk...

For there are no things to make something sweet....

Sweeten the blackness... that grew inside her....

Inside our children....

And i realise my hands are stained with sin....

And i feel this same blackness... this cancer....

growing within...


I sip my coffee...

Black, no sugar and no milk...