trust me, i never want to
leave the poetic trance,
but tonight
i found out
everything about
the strain in looking straight,
we are nothing
but virgins for selfish desires.

look to your right,
who's with you?
who's that person
devotedly and passionately
holding you by the arms
and never letting go?

the hollowness in it
provides
no ledges or windowsills
to save you from the
survivable half-storey fall.

it's always shitfate,
always sullen aubergine
polaroid shots.
what shitluck to save you
from your yearnful desires?
head to the valleys,
the flood is tricky.
this poem is hiding something.
the heir can't be trusted.
the glimpse
is a catchy math rock jam
to keep you going
and going
and going
and going
and going
and going
and going. . . .

we both know all too well,
our pain never fails
to amuse me even at this point.