After I dumped the filthy pain inside
the dank gutters, slimy and dry
double negatives, flat and hard
vowels breaking at the core.  I thought
the loneliness inside of me would
vanish away into sore and drowning
corridors.  But I could still feel the
dripping paint running down my
stained skin, joyless diction rolling
around and upturned.  I heard the
breaking of bones and browning
nouns, whiskey flamed adjectives
pouring out scraped and abandoned
metaphors.  The thoughts were
destroying my beauty, the mugshot
memories stuck in jagged alleyways,
ragged mazes, craggy chambers,
smashed maggots, a darkened dwelling
drumming inside my depiction in the
cloudy drained sky.