We fell to the demise of a haunted mansion with scathed knees and torn sheets to fend and scavenge as Bob Dylan played in the madness. Honest glory as tesinonials of philosophy greeted in comic books stacked high on the bedside tables, we said good night and swore to the ghosts of the room which surrounded coldness in bitter memories. Travesties of fighting in afternoon light for wasted days meant wasted light. Scavenged all that was redeemable, we withered in thick skin and hearts we’ve mended with self medicated drugs and late night scowls through high alleys in Moscow, trapped underneath the light of a flickering lamp. We removed our clothes to show our hands, naked to the world, giving feeble eyes to the last and the second last minutes of an hourglass that lay moaning in a gutter. These glasses fogged in the backseat of ingested cars which muttered and splattered through rusty exhausts; cowardly to the days which detest bones of innocence as the world will fuck us both. We lay awake for days and weeks in search of our minds and settled upon the tide, if only waves meant goodbye. We were captive to the contrast of arts and lullabies to seek revenge for the kiss of whores who laced cologne with the reek of sex and candy and we fell in-love with with such betrayal of the codes in conducts ravaged spine. We pulled apart for literature and sent it to the mantle and we were rather sentimental about the voting booths in unsafe countries. I danced with one shoe shining more than it’s closest friend, to see the reflection of my teeth shattering in the light. We spent a month in awe repeating through jealous betroth in summertime, locked inside a monument as they touched themselves; for they were guilty.














