The Formica traced a trail of ruddy tears…to an unnamed room.
Deep inside the tomb…
my oblique glasses held visions of dull switch blades.
Daggers dancing through the corners of my soul like,
bloody sugar canes sent to alleviate my decay.
Sliding between the ceramic maze…
a hell to be razed.
Alas, the vow,
little do your tiny demons know,
it was written long ago,
upon a wall made of cork…
‘straight jackets cannot subdue the heart.’