crooked frame

yet the fog settles in,
and the words seem to stop,
she sees visions of drops,
of a dry riverbed.

pot of coffee and two
cigarettes after dawn,
the lake frozen and drawn,
existing in still life.

crooked paintings and frames,
like a thick, clouded dream
i forgot. unison seems
not the same anymore

I want contrived writing,
verse that rhymes every line.
Candy that says be mine,
fuck, it makes me feel sick.

You weren't made for this world,
and your spaceship's overdue,
yet through telescope view
you'll still patiently wait.

Subterranean girl,
angel of six feet under,
time to wake up, my dear,
time to wake up, again.