the sink runs mud, a clarity I won't understate.
the splatering, sputtering on the porcelain, sloshing, guttural pain.
on a canvas the paint is truth, on the wall it is deceit.

the bed is a springboard for great ideas.
the romances that die, the 8 hour shifts of bottled eternity.
I am haunted by this sentiment daily.

on the windy beach, the ears and hair, a flag flapping.
cool, dark, the moon like Juliet's eyes.
over the grand ocean of unknown language.

i reach over and grab the gun.
i will go out with a bang while Eve is away.
then sunrise sets still forever