who knows what the devil holds in present moments?
caught off-guard with a case of nausea, but can't sleep it off;
i shivered out enough winters, i coughed up a sad, sad song,
and my eyes were as bloodshot as the sky at large.
streaks of red for a sunset, a desperate dream when you're upset,
when you're flirting with the loveless, and can't figure
that i fell into a familiar kind of unrest.

a skeptic of nuance, what else could you want?
i walked with you in the waning hours, talked with you
about tired themes and motifs of weather,
drunken unluck, and vibrant times together, prior.
sorry echoes of exhaustion at the ends of sentences;
there was the constant threat of silence - my god,
we couldn't just wander home and enjoy the splendor,
the asphalt beneath our feet as fertile as ever.

i'm blessed, still very blessed, but it's all reminiscent
of visiting hours, where love can't mask the stench,
where the sly hint of growth pumps through the vents,
where death after death makes me think that i'm next,
that if i fall asleep, the last image before the next life
won't be you.
here, My Dear, here it is
Gee gee.

God tier.

"Success is as dangerous as failure. Hope is as hollow as fear." - from Tao Te Ching

culex when will you ever post another poem here that will just rearrange our socks, seriously.

we all need it. seriously
here, My Dear, here it is