A dense grey cloud hangs over each day
in the same part of the same sky
but I don't think it bears me any ill will
just a thousand heavy reminders of

You creep into my dreams and mostly
I think its only to stroke your own ego
and remind me of your brilliant plans
to evade the unyielding future while its

Victims feast on the bony carcass of winter
and this bleak and dour solstice twilight
dyes each pill red, melting, viscous
in the blood moon vacant, hiding

In pack formation dozens of empty bottles
relay the confusion of past weeks
paranoia, itching, lonely drifting
through nights of spaceless time

I float from where I do not belong into
quiet velvet comforters and satin throw-pillows
stuffed in my face upon waking dry
mouth and sore back pressed against

Austere white walls extend endlessly
in every direction fading into a distant horizon
where the ghosts of a hundred clouds must hang
heavy with rain, spoiled wine, vinegar

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