yellow moon blue sky
in the forseps of the night, a lullaby can be felt burning into decay inside of you. when you sit in the bath in the dark, watching the water's edge, first mauve, then obscene against the black mold bathtub. any skin held above the lips of the water, feels the intense cold, but the water won't wrap around you like a blanket. and in the grimn, your body won't turn in the tub to fill it. a soft singing in the fluorescent table, tupperware of cigarettes.

you are beating me, and i am swallowing the blows, i am following your finger as you trace the dirt. on the same road, you would see me in the distance. eyes wide and black. my figure in the street aching in the pavement. and in the stillness of your fear, in the muscles of your body, i am turning around. and i see you.
do you watch the dirt decay, are you walking on the sidewalk, or are you inside some womb, screaming out for someone to let you be born again and are you begging for your life. is there any justifying a body inside a body wasting away a body its same size.