I hold these thoughts as I hold onto my infested pupils
my hands open like that of an infant in sleep
curved fingers, innocent and unexpecting of what is to come
the life
the street corners
the slum hearts
and the filthy
all the ends and all the starts
the loved ones who will depart
the torn bed sheets
and the opening of evil flowers
in the dirt of small drunken conversations
the murders and the beauty
of the old burnt down houses
I forget everything

only to be brought back to this state
feeling like a child.