Fog arose from the mouth of the house.
A door made of glass, fallen to the frigid sidewalk.
Blood— the scarlet liquid that flooded all thought
Grabbed the collar of my shirt and ripped it down
To what it must of been. Life looked at me as a child
Falling through the air as an animated anvil
What it could've been in the faint of night.
That was never true. Nothing could give way
To something so clever and exact.