It’s all for you, one way or the other. These words that bubble inside drenched in your scent and so heavy to touch. Underneath your clothes, they pick like fingers at the new horizon. Neon witches drifting in and out of shadow, the time is never right, yet there’s no excuse for calling it quits. A kiss on your forehead. A hand around your neck. Drunken poetry and monsters that have been around since childhood. We share out our sentence as if none of this even matters, yet it does, deep down, it’s the only thing that will ever matter. So silent as the world sleeps around us, all we do is fuck to the sounds of yesterday. Rings of limbo, and patterns in the way your hair floats in lukewarm bath water. Tablets to make you better, only a restless soul can never be cured. Tears will fall. Pain that lasts a lifetime. Images of cheating hearts that do their best to smother all that’s good in a time when so much is at stake. Perseverance against the cure of morphine. Riddled with riddles. A room full of mirrors and pages of your Bible taped to the wall. Attracted by hips. Sucked in by nursery rhymes and oranges. There’s so much sadness, and it cripples every day, but hope lies eternal. Such a dirty cliché. Such a perfect smile. Penguins and elephants. Bluebottles and notebooks detailing agoraphobia. Ivy climbs a mountain of darkness as we make ourselves known against the fall of all. This terrible place, so useless, so cruel. Murderers so dazzling. Lovers with nowhere to go but inwards.