The Attic

The Attic

This is where I start.
There's a super man standing n my eye.
Hot love fills the room, more than in hel,
and even the pigeons are gone as well.
can't get comfortable, back always aching
In time, I suppose, I may crawl under
the flower. Maybe then I will be happy.
But for now I am content with my cheap
ramblings and my yard sale sentiments.
throw me some crumbs, maybe I'll
explode...or implode, or introplode, if
there even is such a heaven as this.
The firelight is gone, another someone's
memories hanging on the wall, another
someone's sheets under me now.
They're comfortable enough,
pencil shavings and red hair dye aside.
But my back still aches. For where
the kin of mine thrive, only
the dead survive.