Dread, padlocked
With the tuft of hair
On the ragdoll\'s scalp
Seeped with the sweat
Through the coat of hair
I waved goodbye to dead letters
Hung up the phone, holding my frown
It was a salvation they said I wouldn\'t have to wait
But the plan was cancelled sine die, sine die
My head has been a Davy lamp
In a coal mine
Spoiling for freedom in death
At the davenport
With a notebook in my hand
I wear dimples, looking through field glasses
At midnight I am reminded the past is dead
I wonder, are there any good poets left?
I don\'t know where they went
The moonlight reflects off the puddles on the wet streets
The cold winds brush off my cheeks
You see, I insisted on this
The puddles look good enough to drink
Almost as if they\'re a blue tint burned in my mind
What remains inside is a visceral ache
Sadness I can\'t explain
I was left with nothing but pain
Shining like a brand new wedding ring
And an insatiable lust for something more
Than whiskey slipping down the warm throat
When I closed the door on yesterday
A manuscript for an unfinished book
I sparkled like rays of sunshine
Tiny pieces of broken mirror glittering
In the eyes of a wondering fool
Facing the ramifications
In the process of changing
I have a mountain on my shoulders
Old wounds and room I carved for new memories
I have to force myself to feel happiness
In this cruel world
I\'ve been reduced to helplessness
With sugar on my lips
I listen to the pin drop
Weaved from deception in a drunken stupor
With no memory of the night before
Chipping away at the glossy exterior
Dwindling like a flame
Balancing between two extremes
The poetry in living and the art of dying
I am reluctant, unwilling, stressed and anxious
I roll my eyes and I sigh
The more I think about death
That unspeakable, broken language
The more the idea of it seems normal to me
And the more I think about it, that cold morning
I fall into those thoughts like I am snow
Blue dust searching for lost time
I\'ve forgotten what it feels like to be alive
When I was feeling better than I did
Before my glorious inception
I am pinewood and milkweed
Trapped in life\'s terrarium
Knee deep in fetishes
With fingers in the aperture
A rush of ecstasy goes through my body
Like pleasure in the rear end
Evidently it\'s real.