The amorous perspective that held the glasses of addiction in front of me,
I have become addicted to that perspective alone.
There’s someone fuelling the torch here too,
he writes songs of spirituality and wrecked wars with a flute in his hand and a beer by the soul,
He is a badass adventurer of commonwealth but he is drowned by whiskey and false materialistic surrealism.
He gets senses from his orgasms at transient nights…
He stands alone with his father under apocalyptic sky.
He is a dreaming soul but his infinity is going to be butchered by the horizon.
And I am quivering with penetrating purples from the thought of it.