Run down to the liquor store, buy me a date,

It’s sordid: you’re late for the third time this year.

    Dear, horizons drip rainclouds amiss,

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    The forecast is ignorant bliss.

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Thoughts through a fog, dying star’s heavy light,

A sun of a son of uncertainty.

    Free, my mind as proof of my claim,

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    Such thoughts quench with hot drops of flame.

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Loose dogs of war, behind thick walls of glass,

Mute fangs, though caged, smell the pulse in my throat.

    Quote, the darkest of all human fears,

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    That blood thirst fall soft on the ears.

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Gulp down the dream, swallow the sight;

Don’t, wake, up, until-the-next-night.

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