I think about the last time
That we talked on the phone...

The still rock is placed
upon the mound of sand and...

If the moon fell down
upon the earth and lay still...

I have been
through hell and back...

Yes I write these things
some call it gay poetry...

Questions raging through
my open and empty mind...

The fetid stench of burning flesh
Fills the midnight air...

As we sit and wait
For the end to come...

The knife is at my wrist,
I am about to do the deed...

When I am all alone
I can feel...