mild depressions and the wild subdued,
razed in the headlights till the heartlight's eschewed.
drink till I'm thirsty, deflate to a ball,
and carpet the floor as it tilts to a wall.
it all looks the same with closed eyes and an honed impertinence, you could say.
every craving a bottle d'oubliette or a stage for pretense, you could say.
where every window cages an unforgiving sky,
and every sky envelops an unobliging world,
supine and purulent.
who am i in all this