traipsing w/soft-handed monsters
into strange apartments
crying,
thinking about ghost cinema
and pseudo coffee
broken echoes of sharp nights,
harsh glass,
and sad eyes
this is millennium
this is for the crimes in dreams
that we write our crooked names on
street corners and label our belongings
in his or her's
we are trapped on the other side of the
wall
we have shut our own doors
to the howling void
to the hungry children
to the starving hordes
this is why we create
because amidst the spiraling mindsets
of
now-forgottens,
we want to be the light
we want to swallow the dark
peer into our belly,
beast of tomorrow
we've collected our debts to you
we have scattered our soul
behind every painting,
inside every word
catch us if you can