a bowl of burning incense and a glass door opened to evening air,
those tears of hallucinated losses and stubborn ways
I can command my demons to scream louder than hers
but I no longer regress to those haunting days
when the four walls of my bedroom
were the only friends I could depend on.
And in the wake of an hour,
I remember that hole in the wall along the staircase
shaped like a broken heart
patched with a pathetic tear of white tape.
for the last time.
Such a lost town,
reminiscent of aged dreams and youthful steam
with a touch of je ne sais quoi
for I never learned how to cross that bridge.