Blood side by side.
Your risqué humor...

Part of me? like a morpheme,
you are leaving...

As it appears?
as if nothing stops you and...

Dressed to assassinate,
not having much hope...

Visible
of invisible blues...

Unhinged
in final descent...

An executioner
gazes up into your eyes...

The pain cycle
celebrates the pitfall...

‘Twas your ghost
to secure the promise...

You walk into a trap.
The self-search must start...

Lying in congealed blood.
You cannot wipe off the stigma...

A method cuts you out?
in hunger pangs...