fascinate the inner workings of a maniac in style over substance,
pushed inside the ceramic dish not served but over strained,
whiskey drinks,
futile things,
a harboured extension of the flaccid tool we dare not name,
forged alliances that could never be,
hand shakes,
cold embraces,
toxic waste drank without care or quandary,
we owned the shell of something different,
gaze upon me,
see without the eyes you’ve become accustomed to,
vanquished September mornings washed over by December coloured lies…
Leave a Reply