Whispers seeping through an empty air vent,
duct taped in order to prevent
the last stitch, last ditch effort
of problems, solutions, solving the solvent
by subtracting oxygen from the addent,
advent, adverse perverse perfumes
instead of breathes we inhale exhales;
we laugh sighs, we cry wise words of
weary worth;
"believe in fate,
we, needing faith
hate leaving space
in the gates of the angels
that save; of the safe grace
that grazes the faces of the fake
names of people; surrounded by places
bounded by traces of truths
that were thought,
with the devil in mind
and his demons though not you;"

I used to sleep
on a bed of roses,
red ones turned me
into a boy,
who turned these red roses green;
I used to sleep
on a bed of roses
so perfect and calm
that no one cared,
nor dared or noticed
how alchemists
could transpire gold green roses..