Body hurts from last night's wine and This morning's lifting. Hands shake, sounds of construction Like an insane symphony of Unsilence.
My limbs are the fingers of a clenched Fist around the hope that The hours may grow wings. The city, a snail outside The construction site fence.
We're both prisoners under a Sky that's waiting to downpour, Giving each other nervous looks Through iron bars, smiling Unwillingly with tears in our eyes,
To immitate consolement. Today, a line has been drawn between The world and its enemy, Of which I'm on the wrong side. This is how I die;
A drowned flower. A bleeding scar. An Exposed nerve in the rain. At least I have the wine. Without it, I'd never get this thirsty.