Writing: compiled.

Drowned Light thrust thru living room recline, Peels violet pigment from weathered leathered skin, make nan look edwardian, lace and corset, rocking back and rolling forwards, smack delicate kisser into concrete covered in berber, and cracks that adage of a smile... lullaby sings softly on the strings of her hair, as body erects a monolith to launch the spirit from this world and into the grace of the nest.

nonsensical blurb-age of a day passed on, through chocolate covered stained glass I see into your neo-soul, i softly recite a long winded diatribe to your unattainable beauty and etch it to my memory to tell you four years later, you said, "i wish you weren't worried...", but I wish you weren't married... that's the thought that glazes my gaze, i become incoherrent and no longer can convince you to touch my face... please, gently wrap the tenderly weaved gauze around the wound painted deep within my haloed center. Release me into the shadows to fight the rats for the discarded morsels tossed down into my hell by the harlots above... as i desperately try to obtain another artistic hyphen.

Vesuvio or Pomodoro....
Upon death, I would like to be served to my guests. Although it is more classical to be sauteed in garlic and extra virgin olive oil and served with potato wedges, I think it is more appropriate that I be sauteed with tomatoes, scallions, a hint vodka and tomato cream sauce, with crush red pepper...