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i.
the kerosene raindrops i buried within the six foot death trap of my sepulchre eyes burned the silhouette of your vagabond ghost where decaying newspaper roses bloomed from your barbed wire bones
ii.
you were a stained-glass angel that fell from the kismet moon's tongue, wearing a blind-fold of delicately ripped black lace stitched with dusk's secrets and hints of dawn, pages of your straight-jacket lullaby shattered on the abandoned train tracks of my ribcage
iii.
you counted forgotten years will frail fingers, a soldier of the blessed virgin wrapped in midnight's twisted version of tears with a menthol cigarette between your teeth and as i pray for the seroquel pills to drag me closer towards the darkness, my scars screamed for vindication
iv.
and perhaps, your ashes have returned to the riversky- your requiem fabricating a new postscript constellation while we stay behind, hoping to find our own smoldering halo so that the starsong in our lungs will remember how to breathe ... your name
