I sit in ruins
thick, heavy smog
builds up behind
my eyelids.

But with that,
I must say,
I am suitably fine.

It’s my insides
on a salver,
next to a pint
of salty tears.

For years,
all you have to offer:
a silver spoon,
and hefty appetite,
that a promising
young man ought
to have in time.

Sometimes,
I think I do
see you, for what
You really are:

A shrewd,
and shifty halver,
with a thirst
for bleeding hearts.

Other times,
I see dazing stars
inside your eyes.
Lavishly entertaining,
reckless tales
spun inside my mind.

If I could peer
a little longer.
If I could tame
the impish warmonger,
that dwells
in the encephalon.

If I could talk
myself to sleep
and shrink
into the muted swan,
you grew to love.

Coal burning stove
a treasure trove,
in brackish waters.
A common plight,
out of the slaughter.
If I drown,
in smokey caverns,
with my knees
pinned there
on the tile.

If I float
down the water.
In a raft
down the Nile.

To that,
I must salute.
Dare I say,
I was a solute
searching for a way out
of the falling apart.

To you,
I know I’d run to.
A lewd,
and lousy lover
with a cold,
unfeeling heart.