The stars droop wishless in the windowed sky
laughter and cheap perfume wrapping from the other room
the ceilings, walls, concrete, windows, oh the windows are many
Death is my only friend
well dressed and spoken
in whispers belonging to a respectful voice
when I leave.
I am a glass of soda
and that is all
with a sacharrine self stigmata as my only thing nomenclatured hope
reincarnated as a diabetic.