paint a smile about your lips, precious phantom. my hands are endless tapping out morose thoughts on the tabletop, in the air, upon your translucent skin. the wine infects my mood and i am savage, wise, mean, a bastard at the turn of a wrong word and everywhere i go there are faces i do…

i am spinning in place alone in this bed, i am a revolver holding hollow points in my iron grip to dispel whatever may creep upon me in my sleep. i am the bore through which you pass, the terminal you must navigate, the blind vessel from one pause to the next. i weld sound…

a cold halo circles the night and there are fires out there burning in the dark but none so as in my heart. it wavers from winds of passion and has before been snuffed out by such gales that are common to all and those only common to i yet in those moments i am…