Tender are these wounds

all my ghouls appear to be bluer
when the clock strikes three painful
blows;
all I wish is to feel less broken
when my bones begin to crumble under
the pillow;
how these words hurt me!
how the cold takes a deep bite
of my soul!
how I wish my letters would flow
as effortlessly marvelous
as F.Scott Fitzgerald's...
my hands are yellow,my lips are growing numb,
I want to run inside of me
and let go,let go,let go.
these tender wounds are scorching scales
of a waterless skin-
summer holds my ocean,
winter only damns it...
dying eyes,one more minute!
one more ivory sparkle
from salvation's
veins!
one more lie,one more tonight...
all my ghosts appear to be darker
when the clock smiles disassembled
on the sky's floor...