deadcompose

[xmy.only.exitx]

test patience and rest
while completeness with its great apetite
swells on your expense,
So do your best to say no and hang your doubts about the door,
Before its dark, you'll close your eyes,
The sharp angles of corners will hide
the bluntness of your mind,
Green and growing, blooming and decaying,
Tables and chairs one at a time,
The blue ink inside your pen
rapes your consciousness;
A conspiracy cracks open,
and now the table breaks with all the pain,
and the paper turns into flames,
Orange and green, a darker shade,
A nostalgic age, a little clearer, a little late.
Whispers, nonetheless, wrung out of lungs
and halted at the lips, turn into sweet
whistles and blow with the wind.
The gin inside the bottle is choking to death,
A thousand sad suns and a thousand clouds
sans the silver line,
Time and the tide run in circles,
I make a unidirectional line to my grave,
While history collapses on itself,
and the future like a fugutive takes on his heels.