2am.

(1) 
"An indifference cuts lazily and deep: a sawhorse of my spine and yours pressed togheter in a pine box.

six feet down, with our watches ticking on our chest, where there's no breath, and no light, we echolocate back to back. We just find walls and worms. Our composition decomposes. 

Apatyh is a weapon best served cold on the end of a pointed silver tongue. Sometimes I put it down, and dig up trying to relive that feeling when I quietly entwine my thighs in yours -- a pleasant jigsaw pocket cut by a familiar breeze. 

goodnight, baby. You'll be sleeping with a bottle of chloroform kiss."


(2) 
"I'm restless,

like the wind in your hair, I wish I was there,
fingers enveloping your eyelashes, a blind many memories of the shape of your stare.
Standing here on that sopabox of mine, smelling alien and raw to the indifferent maw of us all; damned renegades. 

For sale, cold and pale, I ask -- I call out from under a smiling painted visage; -- "Do you want me? Do YOU ?" Largely, the crowd is unresponsive.

mascara cheeks and bedtime streaks of a phantom tear running down, dry as another night without the company of truth, sippng on my long lost youth; 

too old for this whore business. Too young to stop breathing in this ether that reminds me so much of you."