no perfect world to be imagined thru out the time i spent admiring the walls of the afterglow in minutes i will become something better while the earth moves on past me i would be content to sit in the coffin breathing laughter among the willing and the lost w/out a blanket to hold on to i smoke ten cigarettes together and think of poems to capture the feelings inside and all around me are minds going at miles per second to show each other our words and you think i'm pretty and i write something worth saying until it ends up scrawled on the bathroom wall of a strip club in seedy downtown slum and perhaps mimicked by a blue-haired raven strung out and leaping from building to building like birds who don't take flight for the experience but rather the instinct and all poems will now be burned alive i cannot wait another hr. for you to call me and tell me i ruined your peace w/sad ancedotes of tomorrows and yesterdays are better than todays when drunk and spilling your guts to the world via monosyllabic grunts and frantic waves of your hands to paint pictures is beautiful that cannot capture the innocence in one of her smiles as she is hunched over vomiting, staining the shadows w/her love and i think i love her while she lingers in my head the other voices are telling me it is time to go.......

think not of what this could have meant...but rather how it makes you feel

no darkness in your life anymore.
the sounds of gloom are a mystery and an example of the after-effect of life.