The dark energy
brings a little death, everytime
you throw a lighted torch at -
the hunched mass of a wounded
pride when you were wanting
a wayout from within in vain.
A neurotic dilemma to
arrive or not to arrive
for the final act of -
kicking the bucket. Silence
one day will speak to me
in whispers for a beautiful
elegy of a charred remains
of a renegade god who always
wanted a silver rain.
