“O thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known by, let us call thee devil!”-William Shakespeare*
It's cold outside and colder in here Under the surprising privacy of a blaring crowd I gleefully lose myself
Put on my pseudo-smile and talk to my pseudo-friends.
Maybe even forget it. Forget that I feel like a set of floating eyes Forget that we're all mounds of flesh and hair Forget Forget you all
My eyes are brick walls and fence posts And I am opening the gate to all in sight I watch my ethos come crashing down with every increasingly true glance of yet another Siren.
Only under the blare and blur of that frozen house Could I have ever mistaken formality (or the lack of) for some sort of kindness or legitimacy.
I've nothing to say to you but my mouth keeps moving I've no joy to give to you but my face keeps smiling
Curse the fate of the hidden one destined to reveal himself under most forgettable circumstances
I didn't remember much, but let us be honest:
when the sun rises (as it also does) and your burning eyes long for lost innocence and vitality
The air will pulse and the room will echo but I will be gone: and I'm taking your memory of me as a parting gift.
Copyrights? Well, do what you will: I'm plenty confident no one would want to reproduce anything I've written.