blood pours from
the keyhole in my forehead,
as she inserts the key.

the name of someone so close
comes off the lips like a foreign word

The steely smell of my fingertips
The sheets of gray sky
The snot lodged in my nose
The stacks of dirty laundry

Are not impressed by my good looks
and charming personality

“Your eyes look weird,
like you haven’t been sleeping,
or like you’ve been asleep for a long time.”

applied for membership

on my way to mercury,
a girl smiled at me as I passed.
I had to force a scowl.
it was half-hearted.

a dark door in a dark alley,
the chrome of nearby motorcycles,
reflected a neon-light.

"ID." she said.
"there you go, sweety,"
and stamped my wrist.

no one dancing on a Sunday.
a bit disappointing.

the bartender, a fu manchu marked his face.
a pentagram hung against customary black.
"how's yer day goin'?" he said with a bright smile.

I shouldn't have tipped him, but I did.

great music in this little corner.
good place for a troll to sit.
a crisscross place.
a jigsaw room.

on an empty dance floor,
those that dance, don't dance for long.
the lights spin lonely without company,
when we drink and become sad.