it wasn't supposed to be this way,
me with a stark white fragile screen, worms of intoxicated minutes
all squishing, crawling, sobbing
never this way without shades of last morning,
that lasted forever,
even now,
miniature suns flickering under a powerful and tyrannical laughter of a mute moon
that last morning
that lasted forever, tastes
of wine and apple pie,,
across geology of segregated past,
even now,
warm sweet aroma streaking through, bright and shining,
on altars I bowed
whenever i celebrated death, of you, of me, of every brain that felt tumults of a faraway heart
every rationality that trembled before feeble beats of stumped heart
watching you sleep wistfully,
death of every human that could have been
human, without past,
all those death, the tribute is cheap,
just a single bottle of wine
that's all worthy of an offering to unnatural deaths
and coffee, and cream, and pie.
But you see, sweetheart i'm broke
to the last loan, sorry sweetheart I'm parched to last drop
of alcohol in my veins, I can't give you any more sweet hallucinations of
two kids wading through glamorous destitution,
a single suicide, and a beautiful betrayal,
no more of those dreamy graves.
Tributes running short,
call the priest soon, priest of green herbs, priest of brewed hungry generation
summon all those priests, make them real,
my last breath is dying,
I WANT TO HEAR THE FINAL SONG,
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