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Description
    you  lit   up
like a     campfire,

when you told me those words.

and now   the half-light is tinted
   with airs   of  past speech

     because    you    always   told me
  these things, these   truths,   in   technicolor hues...

      before   burning them down like  bonfires
  and        staring  at those nowemptywords

because   guns
   are pouring down
like overloaded prognosis

     as    the clouds disappear
  and i am left   with only blanksky
filled
    with  spilled,
  ink,

        and     dotted   with
   infinitesimal   specks
      where   the air was too thin...

the   light   is   fading    from    the     day.
     (there's a tear in our canvas)
  and everything   seems
          coated   in lacquer
   (and it rips across   this geography)
dull      and   dripping
        (straight across that city)
       like    spilled
                  ink.

i still remember the days when i would light you like a wick,
    when   the    air    was   too thin,
   and  watch your face burn,
dripping down
    into     kaleidoscopic patterns
  matched only by
      the   path      once   realized
by that crooked hand.

and  you'd only stare at me like nothing was wrong,
  or like you were staring right past me
to the water where you would...
        drown.


sky   fades out
and becomes tinted
      in  blank.

( don't tell me otherwise,
    i've already heard
  your horrid words
         And I'll never think the same way,
    or write you   a eulogy
[... I fell asleep on the pier
   with the   water whispering
         in entropy
      and    thought of the way you fell
   into  that deep drink


       and i felt that canvas drown.] )

and   i wrote you a letter
a letter   you'd never read.

     and painted pictures on the movie screen
of all the places we had been

   because as you say,
those pale words to me,
  i fall backwards,
into a dream or movie scene

"and the sky shone like static, that night
     fluttered and shuddered like your cold sleeping spine
  And I, Could Never Find,
        any solace in the shape of clouds
   because they moved so   quickly,  and always changed
into something far more sinister.

( there's a tear in our canvas... )

   the words   fall out your mouth
and   into a crevice
    that never had an end...

and they drip onto this canvas
      and stain it with words...

because last night I practiced drowning,
  under firelight,
and I   never felt a   thing
   no I never,
felt a thing

with  me and my bones,
   against a wall
burning    a  matchstick
   and   holding it
to   your     colddarkface
           as
you
        ignite

(oh,thesebones, thesebones, they never felt the same,
   after that day,
      when   that  canvas it burned away.)

the souls
   in the kitchen;thebathtub;thelivingroom;thebedsidetable
always
      speak  to me

   and i can'tgetthemoutofmyhead.

( i've always been aquaphobic, ever since the 8th of june )

     [ we burned our bodies
           and set ourselves on fire
          and we never
             felt a thing

           and we told
       all of our secrets
    and put our fears
           to bed

      and   we never
           felt a thing. ]

walking cloud and deep red sky,
   flag fluttered and the sun it shined,
and    the ghosts they   flew   away,
     and the earth it shook that day...

your body was still floating
   over the water
when they found you,
   asleep in a dream
      you'd never wake up from,
and just inches
      from that deepdarkdrink.

and, like ink, you faded,
  into the foreground.
and you slowly, slowly

      d   r   o   w  n e d.



serpent sang
   a song.

and this voice is still ringing
  in my head

    and all i have to soothe my brain,
is a tiny bottle of hexabromocyclododecane

( and i, could never find
     any solace in the shape of clouds
  because on the night,
of june the 8th...

       ... i let that canvas drown. )

."you can never trust me
           i'm too far gone."

and i never
  saw         that   canvas
again.

Description
    you  lit   up
like a     campfire,

when you told me those words.

and now   the half-light is tinted
   with airs   of  past speech

     because    you    always   told me
  these things, these   truths,   in   technicolor hues...

      before   burning them down like  bonfires
  and        staring  at those nowemptywords

because   guns
   are pouring down
like overloaded prognosis

     as    the clouds disappear
  and i am left   with only blanksky
filled
    with  spilled,
  ink,

        and     dotted   with
   infinitesimal   specks
      where   the air was too thin...

the   light   is   fading    from    the     day.
     (there's a tear in our canvas)
  and everything   seems
          coated   in lacquer
   (and it rips across   this geography)
dull      and   dripping
        (straight across that city)
       like    spilled
                  ink.

i still remember the days when i would light you like a wick,
    when   the    air    was   too thin,
   and  watch your face burn,
dripping down
    into     kaleidoscopic patterns
  matched only by
      the   path      once   realized
by that crooked hand.

and  you'd only stare at me like nothing was wrong,
  or like you were staring right past me
to the water where you would...
        drown.


sky   fades out
and becomes tinted
      in  blank.

( don't tell me otherwise,
    i've already heard
  your horrid words
         And I'll never think the same way,
    or write you   a eulogy
[... I fell asleep on the pier
   with the   water whispering
         in entropy
      and    thought of the way you fell
   into  that deep drink


       and i felt that canvas drown.] )

and   i wrote you a letter
a letter   you'd never read.

     and painted pictures on the movie screen
of all the places we had been

   because as you say,
those pale words to me,
  i fall backwards,
into a dream or movie scene

"and the sky shone like static, that night
     fluttered and shuddered like your cold sleeping spine
  And I, Could Never Find,
        any solace in the shape of clouds
   because they moved so   quickly,  and always changed
into something far more sinister.

( there's a tear in our canvas... )

   the words   fall out your mouth
and   into a crevice
    that never had an end...

and they drip onto this canvas
      and stain it with words...

because last night I practiced drowning,
  under firelight,
and I   never felt a   thing
   no I never,
felt a thing

with  me and my bones,
   against a wall
burning    a  matchstick
   and   holding it
to   your     colddarkface
           as
you
        ignite

(oh,thesebones, thesebones, they never felt the same,
   after that day,
      when   that  canvas it burned away.)

the souls
   in the kitchen;thebathtub;thelivingroom;thebedsidetable
always
      speak  to me

   and i can'tgetthemoutofmyhead.

( i've always been aquaphobic, ever since the 8th of june )

     [ we burned our bodies
           and set ourselves on fire
          and we never
             felt a thing

           and we told
       all of our secrets
    and put our fears
           to bed

      and   we never
           felt a thing. ]

walking cloud and deep red sky,
   flag fluttered and the sun it shined,
and    the ghosts they   flew   away,
     and the earth it shook that day...

your body was still floating
   over the water
when they found you,
   asleep in a dream
      you'd never wake up from,
and just inches
      from that deepdarkdrink.

and, like ink, you faded,
  into the foreground.
and you slowly, slowly

      d   r   o   w  n e d.



serpent sang
   a song.

and this voice is still ringing
  in my head

    and all i have to soothe my brain,
is a tiny bottle of hexabromocyclododecane

( and i, could never find
     any solace in the shape of clouds
  because on the night,
of june the 8th...

       ... i let that canvas drown. )

."you can never trust me
           i'm too far gone."

and i never
  saw         that   canvas
again.