I have an idea of the future.

Bleak and stale.
It's salty **** licked at my neck
Then turned and let me be
A solid hammer of stone.

&

I smashed, smashed, smashed
Away at your T.V.
And pulled your hand through,
All the while;
Your lips just keep saying no
and no, and so I let you go
and let the sweaty sand drip off
Of my boney fingertips.
As if it was my way,
Of letting your scent go
Away with the
Summer-time *snow.