and we all fall down;
down
twisted tunnels of temptation,
in the depths of our own insanity.
it's easier to rip the seams of time
with our bare hands
when we see through
glassy eyes.
the revving engines of impatience,
hearing future echoes of ambulances--
mourning taste buds looking for
a drop,
to quench the thirst
of someone that can't seem to swallow enough.