An illustrated portrait of myself now rests in your hands, something that I'd never even dreamed.
Consideration goes a long way when you are paying through the back door.
Come back, we'll make it all worthwhile and forget the bad while we whisper over the loud voices in the next room. Let our gin soaked throats carry upward and onward as we hail, "We are the real ones. We won your silly little game."
Your hand can trace the outline of a name you once called yourself but here is where there isn't a single identity but multiple people encompassed into one sigh.

Know/Knew

Pepper-grained grass with navy specked skies,
there wasn't a single thing wrong with that day we said
'keep me in the know.'
unsure of spies and crooks with majesticly woven mattresses could we ever be certain that we were not where we once were.
In fact, this was somewhere completely knew.

Finally

I was enjoying the company of the lifeless while killing off a few of my own limited cells when I realized how temporary everything is.
This depression, that feeling of elation, every touch that can only linger for so long until it's gone.
Everything goes away.
All of these boxes now full of dirt and bones were once just like me. Living, loving, lingering until one day it all ended.
Did they want to be remembered like this, by some wretch who just happens to wander past them while smoking a cigarette for the first time in five months?
Doubtful.
My own existence mocked by overturned granite and faded surnames.

A Thought

There were more carcasses then cars on the road and I felt like I could've crept up beside any one of them and been the same.

Here

There are selfish things inside of me when your arms lay on top of me.
I want you for myself, for things to eternally grow and expand.
I want so much of this that my greed overcomes my senses and lets me escape everything else.
That escape is so different and vivid that my breath becomes scarce and my heart ceases it's incessant beating to just a rare thump-thum.

This is the world for me,
with tiled ceilings and overpriced antiques,
this is the world for me.
I can't wait for these metal highways to bring it all together.

The End

With a sense of irony the only thing that can be done is to drown ourselves in poison while still looking forward. We can talk about you because you make it so easy. Ridiculously easy.
The guilt that was there has disappeared, replaced with an undying sarcasm to your mundane existence.
You've been left behind, funny when with the circumstances
but now you're alone and I don't feel bad, not a single bit.
Because you see, you're a mirror. There is nothing changing about you at all except for which direction you're facing and who looks into your eyes, nothing but their own black pupils staring back at them but cheapened, watered down.
You've been outed so let's move on.
Okay? Okay.