start with a doubt and a guilt and simmer. reflect at the angle that bisects oblivion…
but never come to terms with it. drink all the suns and mutter in the patter of  late nights grinding away
at the center of your lost boy.
keep yourself to your mosquitoes while you smokescreen your terrors with beautiful things
that pour out of you like all day things with glitter for mumps! you unhappy thing.
now you must stare at the wheel of an unbearable Sun. but you have no donuts
until you wake and make them suffer holes that you decorate with glaze
while glancing at the emptiness wrapped in empty calories
you’ll never dance-off.

somehow continue.

or not.