drowning in placid reveries of golden honey dripped irises and muck. i'm sick to my stomach, darlin', i'm sick. and i got these aches in my neck from daydreamin' too much, you see. because i've learnt that these times call for abundant thumb twiddles and rocking chairs that creak, while smearing red deep along silent lips under thick tattered tapestries...i'll be mighty fine, eventually. dark dancing with elusive shadows, which twist abstract transparencies of me along the milky wall or loopy bridge or muddy streets, sometimes. 'till heartbeats and eyes leak all lazy and dank. i'll be mighty fine, i will. 'cause i figured out that gorging on words like strings of spaghetti and cups of sweetened coffee do wonders at filling up the empty, empty.