Raise my soul from this empty cellar
and cheer the dead’s great victory.
Another day to hear the wind’s dark
and dreary whispers, beckoning me.
Veins edged with that elixir of poisoned
dreams, I am vacant of will, left to wander,
alone, through the haze of gray cities lined
with blood, semen and death. Gathering
my sanity left in scattered shards of
amber glass (each cut deeper than those
made past), birthing bitterness and
shame, I toast the end of days and cry,
cry into my hands.