lying in reflection
a dark beat twenty-seven
kissing your hands
spinning in beds
of men i might
find in a horrid truth
bleeding from palms
of cuts i spent
on a resolution i said
in drunken somber
with rotating tables
on a balcony of hellbent nature
locked in a house of dangerous might
and i sin at midnight
because midnight feels the same
in every shade of night
as the sun feels without a sense
it burns like an intensity
at a different velocity
and i quake because lines don’t make sense
metaphors bend and things i said
are words without meaning
like little white lies
transcending without view
on vines swinging to divine
like i in night
finding horror in sheets
twisting and bending
to please something
other than me