The words go 360° and land back at my feet, ever constrained in a magically perfect world where things are clockwork. But truth isn’t a warm blanket; and your heart is never warmer than a Siberian summer.

i go hungry / this money, it’s not interplanetary / survival becomes a joke without hope / just look at the bloke down the street / trying to cope / without the greens to pay for his dope

It’s midnight dear, past the snowflakes, your heart is clear and love is near. No, please, I didn’t mean what I said. I do love you, but the time is not right. You and I: the equation doesn’t flow. How should it go? Well, fuck. How would I know.

Thirteen notches into the gutter, and you life is in flutter; eight nimble legs that swing about and bring down your ego, and her eyes whisper to you her jealousy—yet you can’t let go.