The end of our journey
on the horizon’s center;
the last stop to this asylum
in the midst of winter.
Darlings of destitution painting
erotic distractions on the latex;
the essence of ambition covered
within the toxic keepsakes.
Cold doors keeping out
the warmth of affections;
our bodies wrapped tightly
within the canvas of preconceptions.
The thumping of our minds
beneath the crumpling distress;
ideas illuminating our perilous
potential. Bloody beads of sweat falling
into the darkness.
Crazy notions spewing
all over the floor; the
filthy piles of wasted
time is growing.
Insanity within this circle
of trust; our dreams mislead us.
No windows to expose the sun as
we recline towards amnesia.