A black cat hesitates.
With my friends filtered, cascading sheets of Jameson, the path fills me Warning the porch of presence.
Continue to sleep. I will go away to the city and work in the folded webs of my skin.
Is it you who functions when I sleep?
A breakfast for champions, my dear remove the flakes of sincerity.
With your hair hidden by my hands away from the window's critics, my boots loosen and the knots twitch less against the thin layer of resting protocols.
Tools to sedate my neuroses.
The glitter of chrome fails in my camera's lens. A failure to assure my hopes not to climb into my throat.
Answering machines. Counting few pennies which were several.
It is not you or the grey cat stealing from me.
In cups, I plot the orange cat's plans.
Visiting his memories this way for answers about a future.
Revealing to us all, my ideas should stay in your stomach.
I loved you for seven seconds.
My heart stolen on the eighth.
Weeks passing and bringing the rosary to a withered end.
The work-day is over.
I walk. Fainting on the bridges, on top of stone pathways once glowing
Blinking my eyes. Only the impression I close them, it hangs in my head.
My hands fumble for the lives I've touched correctly.
Night falls, I notice it. My eyes close and open in the aluminum.
Yeast and a burred edge meet me in reflection.
Parallel tragedies. You heal mine and I see yours.
Raise your hand. Show me how it moves against the ceiling.
Very sedated. Insane to feel so happy without proper dosages.
Tragedy