breathing blackness

lungs full of nightmares

scorpions of fear in my throat

violins weeping their

bittersweet enchantment -

in the dusk’s smouldering fire

the paper moon

is going up in smoke;

dark leeches feed

on our wanton waiting

we reek of fresh blood

and indifference

we taste like blindness -

air, water, tears -

only loneliness is solid:

a black glass pyramid

filled with white lilies

and fragrant lies.