The blue walks around my room,
lingers in the air
just a little longer than it should;
I have taken the plug off,
turned the lights out -
in hope someone might come looking for
I guess I do not want love
as much I need to be found 

My mouth sprouts like a cult
whitewashed lies and weeping lilies
just against the dirty blinds
I watch moths circle around the flame
chanting my cursed name
your hand under my shirt as your phone chimes in
whistling the lore of the primal man

I crawl across the room - barely breathing,
I need a crowbar to ply out 
the broken pieces of me 
from the sidewalk of crying lightning 
so, instead of walking back
let that cat inside the bag out,
- I have been momentary
a sigh of booze; a gush of wind at best 

What's life if not a heap of bones,
bag full of papers wasted 
and blood clots of robbed glances?

Goes without saying
I do excel at dying ;
the air crisps thin; I crouch on it
clouds fold, like the hair you wear
and pain is teething somewhere nearby

I murmur to the flame
that goes out all in spite -
death must be very granular
it nods and escape the very first chance it gets ----