Thursday, December 15, 2016


Please take me back.

Back to the dark room.

The red light.

The black night.

The fever pitch.

The revved up soul.

The hankering body.

The peak experiences 

of an unraveled time.

Some obscure place.

My body and my brain remember what my heart has learned to forget.

But I want to go back.

I want to go back to the room in the attic.

I want to go back to old newsprint ink.

Musty stairways.

Main Street.

And the middle of nowhere.

Heaven is a memory.

Euphoria is a type of love.

I want to plug myself back in

to the electric lights

that turned my red lips white.

But I cannot go back 

to a room

that doesn't exist.

I can't go back to an attic

that is nothing but air.

Unless I die.

Until I am dead.

And I did die.

And I am dead. 

And it was you who killed me.

In your arms.

With a smile 

and leagues of regret.

And so much to prove. 

And so many lies to believe.

And bribes.

But I want to go back.

Under the sky 

black as night.

In a room,

red as the blood

that coursed like fire

through my veins.

Red like the flames

that burn.


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