the gory mansion

it's not everyday that you wake up wit the sun digging through the holes of your skin. sometimes it's late, sometimes it never shows up. sometimes you counts days and weeks sometimes the minutes are endless. i have learned to take pleasure in the details. tin when it's empty clang like bells, alcohol when it escapes like vinegar on crispy leaves and the canals when it breaks make your skin breathe like flower petal meat. the bedroom window is a comrade sometimes, for when it plays wit light it becomes an absolute snob. some days you wake up at wrong hours of the day. it slaps you in the face i don't know why yet somehow i think i understand.