Dimmed light, dirt and walls of pain, Long nights, mud and pouring rain. He's buried in his thoughts Wandering about among the towers That rise from the mist. Fingers entwine in his worried hair. The seasons change as he crosses the street. For now the traffic is but a crimson caravan. Passerbies have neon heat disease, Elephant talk goes over his ears. He whispers to himself: "Death is a birthright, A torch burns Not to keep the shadows at bay But because it was lit. Seeds and honey, milk and blood, Let all the old words cease to rhyme. By some reason cemetery gates Are almost always only halfway closed. My suspection device is active now." He carries a boxful of sunset on a strap.
The mirror spits his image, The glass is spilled Like sparkling dew. Human body parts fallout. He's just a picture in my book.
And than mother brought brother So I would clean his cut and soothe the pain. His hand was frightened. She said while leaving the room: "Look, don't touch; Cry, don't tell." "She's partially right" I said. "The bones in the ceiling can hear you, They resonate with your cries. So hush all lush And maybe cut the cult out of culture Maybe, again, using puncture <During the last two lines my brother laughed loudly> To become a lightning bridge" I finished.
He: "Will you show me your Rocket Book?" I: "I can't show it to you today But I can read the last note: <I wink> "It's a glass forest, And she've cried my eye out. Strange woman." Sorry that's all. All else is either miskatonic or methademic. Or drowned in a bayou. <I wink again, He winces> But you know, Thunder roars not asking why So don't let the envy of void **** in your cruel joy. The pity and the baffled Suppress and fear savage savants. Make your way Right through the shards of glass And their cracking will sing for you." He: "But each one of them calls like: "Name all the aimless thoughts in my head, Number the countless stars in the sky, Call my sole shadow for a dance, Strip me of my armor and disguise." I: "That's not more valuable Than a **** if you want. Though I can't deny That at times Morn's coy shimmer takes my voice." Suddenly we simultaneously say: "Forgive me, I was being foolish."