the damp lamp of pristine darkness

flowers will always crawl

up the shaded dead wall,

where the spines kiss

and the sweat drips,

lava flowing light aloft

tis a star within a star soft,

a vase of dusty origami

my impatience has the best of me,

a clock rests on the floor

left there for a reason I don't know,

a garish standard lamp whines

a cricket table dents the carpets low,

once again I find my feet

shine an eye to cold greet,

the ticking clocks shade

where misery is made,