My city, 

my whiskey soaked city, 

smell of this air of infancy and ludicrous nostalgia. 

Brown staircases goes up…up…and up, where you can taste the windy skirts.  

This evening with catastrophic rains is for you…don’t worry just for you. 

My prophetical dimlight fantasies contain nothing other than your pulsating paranoia. 

Keeping you floating; inside my watery eyes was never my distinct intention. 

Revolution, you have kissed the ass of this revolution…

Let me bring it on for you, quantum solace and supernovas gravity with a punch of sultry arts. 

Room full of drunk lies and sweet and sour chickens…fucked the hell out of my filthy aura. 

Passion infused veins, my bloody city…your dogs even know to make me sleep through a bashing glimmer. 

I won’t go….I would smoke and undress your ancient vagina.