The Raisin gathers sweat from my fingertips They are greasy now. The dead relative of the grapes in my ruck sack; excreting final fluids onto
Existing in reflection a presence of vast emptiness. Are you waiting? Waiting in the sky of a timeless day and yet, still dancing upon
Mary, you have lied to the world Have you lied? Is the angel of your dream real Or; Was there too much wine at your
The passion filled by a longing embrace, The pain of your deepest mistakes, The heat rising from your every pore, I am Red. The aching
Sitting in a train station; waiting for a train. The walls are white, the ground is cold and stone. The Sun shines, winter warm, outside.
pre-judged and pre-empted He goes mad, a bad; egg or so people think, his mind is made up, and outwards he goes for revenge. He