swim seams in cluttered
dreams, god in between
the light beams - no space
unkept by him, full to the
edges of the fabric
a carefully calculated scream
manipulated daydreams

all the bars are full at ten
past or before ten, sloshed
clocks, someone spiked
the punch again
("aren't we in a bar?")
I thought we left this place
a long time ago, but it's ten past ten

trying to remove a face
from a head, failing miserably
it's such a mess
the subject of my adorations
because I made too much of a mess
switching my own face in the progress
(I felt too mean
to leave him with nothing)
(and now, it seems,
I've been left with nothing)

I won't even see him again?
ten past ten, only in my delusions
do I think I can
warp ten past ten
to ten past nothing

it seems that
I want everything, god
I want everything