The Suicide's Song
Smell of onion rouses I room
I brain sizzles on
blood soiled fat of I pimples
In this matchbox
a lone rattling stick
decries the clinging dark
Out these windows faint lights call
Within I box,the shadows grow
I hand trembles at the knot
I dream dangles in the void
Silent,the walls stare now
their ears are full
with frizzling omelet sounds
Hear them sniffing so
I must go before they speak
...to meet the sunrise while it sets
...to meet the sunrise while it sets
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