Deinonychus

Everyday� everywhere, I see lifeless, soulles corpses walking down cold lonely streets, the methamphetamine dreams distort focus, their tongues; the serpent speaks, obsidian. A grey funeral hearse passes by, with the scent of lotus flowers burning, a still mourners winters sky. Dark nebula creeping up upon my spine, it is like breathing liquid� with deaths passion, tasting like crimson wine. Bruised lips. A heartless kiss. And a wave goodbye.