A staircase, drunken and narrow. Rested by a gaunt window, We’ll bite down , grit and wrench the arrow from the harrowing spine of our spire. Paranoia, stalked thin by treason . Peeling back the epidermis. We are architecture and silently we radiate.  Gorged, bodies are buildings and we falter and fold into horizons until there is nothing left at all. Sutured, tied tight about the skeletal transmission arc. I am forced to ask “Is this grinding cackle martialled by madness or man?”

Peppered over our bodies, these fragments of desire, if honesty is all that matters… Then why do I waste my time.  Each one we hope is the last… Even when we’re sure it’s not with the close of each dissipation of smoke signal sentiment. For all your implications… We will never honour a single request…  And with this in mind, if I am vulgarity, then I am overwhelmed… And, as fate would have it, I happen to find great comfort in the manner that I am dressed.

You will never be here again. The curse of biology and the charm of temporality. The anxious fire in your stomach is the current that lends thunder to your veins. But you will never be here again. If you are bent on listing all of my faults and failures, why not start at the beginning… With each and every one of your names.

But if I am reminder… Then I am left tired by nights full of planned promises that I will never keep and thoughts of things that I should have kept, and if this is all too new to you, then it’s none of your concern. Because we are the dying and nearly dead, and if not by now, then you will never learn.

…Burn the thieving scripture and unbind my hands. Open your eyes and level this constricted structure where it stands. A living pyre to all you guarantors… Let me start again.