| Current mood: | last night my teeth fell out |
| Current music: | the artist in the ambulance |
impressionist gallery
i look through these lenses and see you,
through the finger prints and grease.
i look past your smile to the parts you hide,
the tiny parts too weak to release.
with alcohol your words are tragic,
i see the unfortunate pictures that hang on your face.
each as sad as the last; blue, black, red, grey,
crooked, they float, over right angles of stain.
they once hung straight, streaked with whites and green,
off center, off center... ...they scream.
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