A tiny and mere space of nothing in-between,
No smiles or tears to capture in one’s heart,
Lifeless emotion to stare on aimlessly,
Graves are open to fill in, in part.
Blank eyes have souls of no matter,
Tea stains in perfect hollow rings,
Thoughts come and go with furious wind,
Take attention of nothing he sings.
Fingers punching at plastic and horror,
Read on dear people no love of pans,
Lapping on vodka to feel something, anything,
Speed in lines in balls in acid coloured cans.
Brace yourself Time my whore master,
I’m running to you now without jittery retention,
Catch my waist as wings give promise in attendance,
Pain gone or exhausted floccinaucinihilipilification.