Shot in the face an insider
tells the story of withdrawl
of the vision thing.

Crooked hands lift the
frozen lake to drimk
the elixir of death.

Lonely home inspires
the dark bird to land
on the window of mountain walls.

Should have left this day
untouched by lips.
I am counting the bridges.

Age will tell the bones
to bend like strings
for a velvety song.