days like flakes of ash
peeling off wet lips
back to the old
it hasn't changed a bit
young forever falling
toughening on the inside
the hardened inner shell
of the thinnest sensing flesh
another winter rotted away
aloneness burrowing into what little
last spring had left unslain
this will be the last
the last unchosen life
the last return to flesh that bleeds
dark lipstick scented smoke
acidic to the longing mind
disintegrate howl ascend into the night
sweet desire nectar saliva
unlearn the red scent of hope
there is no forgetting
so thinly worn the fibers
by which the soul reaches outward
molten lung ash melding from the shell
conceal the unsure truth again
always cauterize inward
soul by bodily deception blind
innate knowledge of pain
out there no old scent lingers
for seasons and deaths
and lives again and anew
all despair under this

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