from a wound never healing into halfhearted gestures.
I fall slowly forward and down into dirty,
with a mind left unleashed from the tether of passion.
I'm a parking lot sun drenched but empty and cracking,
and a foundation fallen from the weight of my weakness.
She's luminescence incarnate on the path toward redemption,
or maybe just a reflection of salvation's illusion.
Writhing in a poisonous lust of my making,
from dreams lit to lightning but lost at my leisure.
Friday to Sunday thinking one day turns to some day,
left to contemplate Monday with a life living death.
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