Don’t Take This the Wrong Way.

My demons have caved and gone home.

The ghosts who pervaded my conscience

have crawled back below the starless horizon.

 

They’re tired of waiting on me.

 

How I wish there was something;

please tell me there’s something better.

Something more than this.

 

Slow bass shivers;

carnival organs and their foul accents poke me;

they make me bleed.

Once, they stopped to play a slower, sorry psalm.

 

Is the sun lonely? How could I know.

 

How I wish there was something;

please tell me there’s something better.

Why isn’t there something more than this?
This saturated solitude.

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