How to Preserve the Life of Death

Sweet Lorraine And as I crumble through the window Wishing it was again to be sand And that I was free Or something Or anything Other than a young man who stands Doe footed and pigeon eyed Someone like her Or this Or that The magnificence Yes that was it Revel forever will I in it For I am that poor starstruck lying little boy Who only can vomit after Lorraine won't leave But of course alas This is not what causes such nausea spells And I had a mere three glasses of fucking new Amsterdam gin Damn straight No lime No lemon I know it slowly kills Lorraine But I am not I I am another me at the moment Obsessing and infatuated with preserving the posterity of what is soon to take me under