Ice pouring out of my
ears and mouth,
the clock tower
watched and
said nothing.
And in the second
before midnight,
I coughed,
you replied with a sigh,
one of those
intakes of breath
that dies halfway
up the throat,
and then is reborn
on the tongue
to explode outward.

I wanted to kiss you,
howl into your mouth
unspoken scars
and words,
burn through
each others skin.
But the hangman
talked with his
eyes wide and awake.
What is the fucking point?
To suffer,
to crash,
mmm though in the molten mess,
blood pumped fiercely and
I sing in deep drenching tones,
to no one in particular.
My lungs heave,
passion felt
to live madly,
in complete wildness
mixed with bizarre appetites that
drown out
the beats of the reaper. 

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