Another dart to edge the thoughts
To feed the idle hands
Another sup to ******* the angst
Of a bitter and twisted old man.
The toxins ebb and flow
And slow
The time which fury paces
It is only he who tastes it.
Cracking slap of now and then
Needle into flesh of sudden memory
Shake the sepia to ashes
Back in the fickle stem.
Bellows of old echo
It is only he who hears it
Abyss breath allows the forget
Age allows to control it.
Choose between venom green
Or amber coals of liquid
Nicotine dreams manifests the scene
The constant, past and forgotten.

It will all makes sense when nothing else does.