The unhinged door lies dormant in the shady haze of his domain; diaries and journals lie tattered and abused in a room cluttered with his childhood;
change waits in broken banks to fund his wandering existence while a paper bag contains the remnants of wooden cities, built high just to be torn down.
I try to remove your name from my lips and sear away any trace of sweet poison from my tongue, for there is a direct line from my lips to my heart, and while my lips and heart deceive me, my mind knows,