From the Kettle Onto the Coil

Stagnant strangers romance on crowded pathways
Below admiring the stage’s glistening coat
Her reflection on the sill
Giving the cheekbones their due
Praising the worth of porcelain skin
My shades of blonde dancing in the high sun
I gave labor to the grief
To the squinting spectator
Who drank in the despair
As i tiptoed off the plane of existence and drifted listlessly
Through the velvet blackness of oblivion
I am what I always was — Gleaming and empty
I am what I always was