When running with a thought,
Careful not to slip for running -
Perhaps you'll jab yourself,
Pouring blood upon someone's seat.

A question, ask! Another, if you can?
Why the hell did you claim my hand?
Calling softly and meekly, for stitches
Exhaling venom, over your forked tongue
Without a kiss, so much as the first?

Lament the damned thing
I ever drew from that game
Muggy games of flaccid wiles
Molesting turnstiles
Twisting inside of her gut

Tickets outstretched, grasp flailing hands
Clawing souless beasts yearning flesh
Caught under their talons, in bloody yards
Subconsciously soaked, the meter adds one.

Fear not the thought of toll-hoppers,
Sneaking without memory save for only two -
For the turnstile forgets one hopper,
And one hopper gains a free ride.

Why then is there longing
When knives lose their honing
When polishing does but no more?
I kiss these love letters
Unfettered, they feather
Singed ashes fall past,
Dancing tongues in black wax.

Supping, till my hatred voids.
Destruction's sultry caress
Encircles weary eyes.

Still, somewhere, arms-out-wide
Head hung heavily, for shame!

For there solely absolute truth to embrace
And one man to blame.