I liked it better when you couldn't see me.

Spent.

Bleeding impatience.

I feel.

Passing by, passing time. I saw you in a dream again and prayed you weren't a dream.

Passing visions. Beaten.

I'm sorry that I was not there.

I hate the thoughts I can't define.

I hate that you are not refined.

Bleed me. Drink me. Kicked until I'm blind.

He shot you down like an animal, but I'm not convinced he got what he wanted. It was a plea for help, I only hope I am helping.

Hey.

Wait.

His head is a bomb and his heart was lost at sea. Reads from the scrolls. No promises. Don't know what to think when all I hear is you screaming. Wish I could heal.

There's nothing left.

Articulation blues. Did it ever register?

In a corner sat a man. His gentle ways afforded him the privacy that he desired more than anything else in the world.

Time bomb.

Robert lights his soul on fire. I have to wonder as I replace my eyes with the mechanical ones I got at the store, if he was ever really there.

Who shot?

What.

A million different dreams raining on a million different pains.

I am succinct.

Shadow me.

Swallowed the pill and she never woke up. Did she see them too?

I can't change, all I can do is create.

I'm not a man, I'm an artist.

This is my howl, I'm sorry it couldn't be . . .

Tell them.

De

Gone for now. Finish later. Publish two weeks from now. Hit the streets. Tell them who you are. That you are significant. That you're the best thing that ever happened to them. That those were not images but incarcerated truths and that you've been crying for seven days because they wouldn't listen to an image. That the image didn't come off of the wall and slap them like you had planned. That you had an arrangement to think for them but that that arrangement did not go as planned and now you have a new plan. A complex and convoluted plan. But you forgot it because you were talking to the eyeball sales rep in your dreams and these new eyes could create miracles, just not the kind you're used to reading about.

When I was.

American nightmare.

Put back together his way. His tears, his shame.

Passion where her mouth used to be.

Defective.

How does it feel watching me rot?

Pick apart all of the pieces you like and convince yourself you love me.

She ran.

I never recovered.

Memory

How I'd kill to hate you.

We shared dreams until I got tired of her lies and shot her.

I feel bad, but it had to be done. It had to be done because the voices in my head took over, simulataneously exposing the truth.

He hates clowns.