'Stop me from drinking the water in which I drown'

It's enough to let your complexities hang. A stillbirth. The unshared anticipation that blooms and begs to be disposed off like a bloodied tampon. And when you let them hide in their paperthin folds and sweatlaced crevices, all the world transforms into a spiral. An endless conundrum. A complex mathematical equation.

I long for dark reverbrations, swift zephyrs and a lack of seasparkled noonsun heatwaves. It is then that I will ease my way back home again to subliminal slumbers and festering nothingnesses.

Verbal fornication and calloused caresses seem to have left caffine bitter cuts upon my arm that love sprinkled anticeptics cannot heal.

I will find my clickety clacking cliche within plastic keys. And in time, an endless slumbered freefall with liquid angels dressed in song by my side.

Hah. You can almost hear the rain coming.