The fringes of my skin
are undeviating...

It's such a quiet day
when I am not flustered...

~
I yearn to hate the night, to grimace...

Collaring my wrist, taking veins
that murmur like violins...

I feel like I can see people, not turning away
when I see the quietness about them or the...

It is a new day
when there are no...

Glissading down toward
pottery...

When is the last time that artistry has
exposed me for who I took the chance...

August rushes back and forth. The land
brought to this blonde haired boy is unfamiliar...

He has to put the gun down
in the rain...

The sadness in her eyes is escalading forgotten...
hours slowly turning into a trailer of days, then...

I burn to release,
send cigarette tips moving...