Hindered by sober restlessness.
Submitting to the amber crutch.
The theme in my aching prose.
Fantasizing the sight of Manhattan; that pour of a bitter red being that escapes a thin frame.
The rebirth of mutual love.
The slipping on gloves to lay tenderly.

"I'm dying."
- "Is it blissful?"
"It's like a dream."
- "I want to dream."

Held my breath and drove through a maze of wealthy homes.
I watched how green the trees were.
I watched the steep walkways and the white fences.
I gripped the wheel.
I sweated against the leather.
I watched the dogs twist through the wealthy garden.
I watched you lay on a towel in grass that exceeded the height of your legs.
I gazed into reflective eyes.
I cried against an ocean of light.

Crippled by the cushion, I sank into sheets frozen by rose pedal toes.
My back shivered for your pressed granite nails.
Dishonest and ugly through the space in my teeth.
Break bones down to yellow and crush gums into blood.
The hardest part for the weak was stroking your fingers with rings full of teeth..

It's 5 A.M... And my heart flourishes at each passing moment.

Always and forever.

Destined as the servant to the night where your moon dreams of the dirt and the sharp tongue of your zealous will is only congruent with the salt in your mouth and the approaching eulogy of the world.

Lost in the patterns of youth and the ghost of your aches comes back to haunt you.
And the forging of change makes no difference.
Memories fly through the mask of your life shielding you from time.
The years that birthed the shell that you gained.
Hunched over in apathetic grief with a disregard for steps except the one taken back.
Perched up on a rope crafted in smoke, a sword wielding death that buried your hope.
Focusing on light through the blinds.
A slave to reality under a monarch in the sky.
Lost in the patterns of youth where the windows shine brightly back at you.

Drooling red from my eyes to meet the bitter sun that shines past into light.
Setting fire to curtains in hope that you're dreaming.

Destroying the tomb of memories from your life.
In the room full of family, but couldn't find one.
In the hallways lit up brightly, but couldn't find myself.
I laid drunk on the concrete on the day of your birth in celebration of all you were worth.

I am my father's son.
I am no one.
I cannot love.
It's in my blood.