Getting Drunk is Never Enough

So, in the dim blue hues of the night, I try to eke out form against, against the bitter stain on my tongue and to the pounding of my heart... And my forehead bubbles and hums and if only she had picked up the phone! But I have the feeling that I would fully detest her for all of that and that I even detest her for her full mailbox.

And I have learned to freedom in recreation but never ever love. And I long for the sweetness of those words to be born on another's lips, on the day I can release my eyes from pain and free my head from its senseless stupor.

And coke even burns now, through a scalding syrup (I almost made my "r" in Cyrillic). It scrapes outside the insides of the stomachs of children and leaves them floating in a pool of beautiful and happy trees and fat cows.

My memory aches. It convinces me of the sturdiness of eternity because it is sealed in wax and I burn, burn, burn in choked gasps and disappointment and lies against this radioactive skyline.

(But the buildings are gone! The buildings are gone!)