Strike me in solitude with half-crescent chords, as I breathe for another sun; just one more. Unable to abide by black-rose dreams and bleeding stars; eternity, a chainlink of just.another.day, coiled tedium laced with ribbons of unopiated pain; strummed sostenuto against heartstrings, oiled with oxygenated blood from open wounds.
I dream. Tomorrow, I scream, until vocal cords scratch and disintegrate into flakes of ash, dissolved by the hydrochloric churn drumming diligently; a grenadier marching forward, dreaming not of his wife and children, but tomorrow. Hell, yes; but life; a cake of imperfections and hundred-proof heartache.
Aujourd’hui et demain; je serai.