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