The things they swept beneath their beds
were not dust, no, they weren't some kind...
We sometimes are intimidated by the sounds we here...
The ages of spotted elegance
design her finger tips in such...
Wispered breaths from dry,
grey tongues...
At one am. I saw your eyes,
you speak in silence...
As autumn ages
we return to the night...
The transients line my jail cell, disclosing that
evening will no longer let my eyes open...
They came down and took you away from us,
carried you away like it was nothing...
Why do we so often
hate death...
As she lays on her death
bed...
If I died today would you remember me
would you remember all the times I made you happy...
Surgery of the words unmasked,
"why did I die alone," I asked...