Her room was by the side of the railroad.
The rattling and the stars were always there.
After a good sleep under the sheet with me; she used to walk towards the window and see the trains…the connection between two lonely dots.
The hollow stairs towards a desire…they always reveal what they are missing.
And I knew she was missing a quiet touch…the scratches of wolves like me are all over her body…she needed a truth of a man.
One night I was in front of her door drunk and kicked by the dry day…
It was locked from inside…I kicked it open…
and there she was my beautiful salvation… hanging from the ceiling…two feet; parallel like rivers.
There used to be some kind of darkness between her neck and her unkempt hairs…but that night it was full of blue lights.
I just turned towards the door and ran and ran and ran… until the first clearing of a cold dusk ran me over.
You are slouching towards your death…and that’s all about the life you are ever gonna get.
She was spared…
Though nothing changed…but in between good fucks and raw liquor I think about her…
And I disconnect myself from the soullessness of me.
My readers say I write from a place where statements flow like barren river.
They know nothing.

…………………………………………………………….

Photograph: Steven James.

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