Burned lips, charcoal lungs prowling for a breath.
Death wags its tail smells for a flesh to sink its teeth into.
Entangled in the sweet web of addiction. Caught in a suicidal company. Yet, never strayed.
Something beats within my frame. A rotten heart. Shallow, but it evokes pain.
Eyes dimmed by apathy. My bleeding wrist soaked the canvas in red.
A vulnerable body which greets the morning with a fever. Between the fingers holding a brand new
*** subsides the itching.
Pushing pain into poetry and prose. Subconsciously, I, emulate the old dogs and the papery white
moon smirks at my endeavour.
With a razor,
With a rope,
I, tried to bid this poet a farewell. But, he never departed.
Madness off the leash,
Broken tiles of dreams pave the floor. Not the stars.
Hung bodies crowded the sky.
I'm a cheat, a thief.
Sadness in a vessel. A dying light in the night and what made you think you could save me?