Dream things, regret and water.

In and around, the cone I lick to death.
And in death, it's remembered fondly.

I'm not like most.
I can not just turn a switch on or off in my head.

I feel.
Everything is noticed.

In blind eyes.
I am a fiendly saint.

Watch me reel.
Watch me breath and recite the time we first met.

In the middle, in the rafters.
Barely an opinion.

Everything I have.
Ends up being nothing you'd want.

Standing on an exhausted street corner.
Waiting for my ride.

If I had my way.
I'd kill the people who want me dead.

Breath in Winter.
Blow smoke rings of Summer.