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