A white porcelain
Porcupine

Sits atop
The stool

Beside a resting
Toilet and silent sink

Drains are clogged
Must be the fog

Airing up
Inside the room

Thick and heavy
Full of cream

Like a hot
French Pastry

Soap melts
Into a fine cappuccino

Skin is soft
Not smooth

Rugged
Tired of the water's touch

Lips separated
Leaking drool

An earlier soft drink
Makes its appearance

Sake makes my soul
Gold and sublime

A snowball I received
To the face

Magical cocktail
Island tragedy

In Paris
Couped up

Stuck in a bathroom
Head bobbing

Up
And Down

Swaying
Side to side

Direction unchosen
Ears sweetened

By a tranquil
Heavenly sound

A song
Heartfelt poem

Layne's voice
Shouting from the void

Guitar strings
Beats of a drum

Native quotas
Unremembered

Just peace
No hate

Possible gain
***** to be given

Snowflakes
Fall upon my brow

Hissing in the heat
Chilling a man-made sea

Fingers tingle
Fabricating a jingle

Eyes swell
Blochted art on the walls

Feet numb
Deciding to stick around

Like a sore gum
Withered with gin

My armor
Solid arms

Continue to fall
Down with my divinity

I am Lucifer
Shining meteor of false hope

Chest heaves
I begin to grieve

Hope for a dawn
Pray to hear a new song

But here he comes
I am bleeding

Shaken by the storm
Overcome

Laughter
And crying

This means
I am dying

But,
Is the time right?