3 a.m.


Silence is lying beside me.

The taste of the silence

Is the remnant of the last Marlboro

I impelled sensually

Into my pebble-sized lungs

Three long hours ago.

Happy are the poor in spirit

They will be enshrined with filth.

The space of silence is somewhere

Between my semen-stained sheets

And my old pains

Shooting up to the stars.

To the infinite alchemy of

The universe.

Happy are the poor in spirit

Eternally they will grit their teeth.

 

The sound of silence is DEATH.

Harpooning mindlessly

Along the trenches of bored lust:

A soundless scream

Amid a lethal nightmare,

The emptiness of the soul.

Silence is lying beside me.

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