i don't have rosey cheeks.
i don't have anything like that left.
all i have is the closeness of death.

hungry animals leave the woods
and find a job in the city
just to get away
from my collecting dust.

no one wants to choke.
everyone talks their way out of it.

i build a fire and listen to the echos
of someone else's laugh.

alone. alone.

alone.

a voice that i don't recognize.
a voice that talks the talk.
enough to make me walk for days.

until im lost
until im crazed.

enough to stop trying to see
through the haze.

and see the way
for its many ways.

two competing eyes
in fight for a simple
and complete
vision.

none the more
is less the wise.