Rachel cuts the strings,
and it's bombs away.
A lost weekend for the books,
with enough fallout
to discourage three generations
of new youth.

Rachel sleeps,
and it's extraordinary toxicity.
A haze of isolation
to balance the height
of her supernal company.

Rachel goes back to prison,
and I continue my journey into the woods.
No light to guide,
no cold hands touching my face,
just yellow eyes and paranoia.

Wilt go the flowers,
cancer grabs the coherence.
Do you love me forever?
Do you love me forever?

Down goes the next bottle,
crawl into the body.
Will your old book make you better?
Will your old book make you better?

I won't be novel long.