• every curve, jilt raw and open
    empty like my rotted insides, soaked like opiate eyes
    and the smell of the charnel house, my company
    i have locked myself here like the bone i am though
    the frames untouched, the flames brush
    painted I before I knew me
    the monotonous, the nonsense
    and this one end wonder makes me wonder
    why not jump

    in, onto dream ward bound the spiraled
    runway plastered with the dancers feet
    and me, somewhere

    in the crowd.