STORY WITH A COMA

The little storms splashing my face, and your erratic silence made me wonder,

do you want closure after all?

WATER AND TILES

I've been thinking. I'm dead drunk. I think I know, now. I'm writing it all down. I think I won't forget, maybe. So I stare at it, hard. I thought I've had it in my head, though hazy. So I glare at you, hard.

You don't glare back.

The sound of dripping water should have drowned me. Instead, I'm drained.

THE TRIP, AND EVERYTHING ELSE

To answer your questions, those nonsensical people say these nonsensical words: "Listen to your heart."

Well, I have trouble locating my own (metaphorical) heart, let alone to take a listen. I guess, once in a while, you're bound to catch a glimpse. Well, truth is, it doesn't happen so very often. In fact, it doesn't happen most of the time. But maybe, someday, for once, the heart will prevail.

If my head doesn't scream first, I suppose.

TONIGHT, TONIGHT

Darling, let me tell you how you broke my heart.

Tonight (lights on, minds off) he raised his arm, drawing his love closer to his face. He made the kiss (the spectator's cheers no more than moving mouths with no sound), but passion was absent indeed.

Meanwhile, you can smell the alcohol from a distance.
Only for tonight.