[Split]

The room's still spinning. I've lost my mind. Shit. A broken heart reminded of old scars I hide with Old Charter and wine tips. No caution. Defiant. So often I'm violent, hurtful to those I love. Forget memories, reload the buzz. In misery, fill nose with drugs. Wishing I could remember what my Rosebud was.

A violet Nintendo or perhaps, my old winter gloves- perhaps I'dve known *which* of them isn't ratty old junk. Mementos to casually throw in a trunk; relax, when alone, just crack for a moment- and gas your whole home with it. Spiral off into a child's stashed notebook with designs we'd imagined would save us when the world came to end. I'm stymied by pages alive in life's madness. Swirling in bends. Scratched in with motions like sorcerer magic. Coriolisesque thrashes on the highest of oceans with a forty year old Atlas. Skimming the beaches for the Northwest Passage with no ruler or compass, til the storm just passes & I knew at once there's no in or egress. Divorced of passion: knights cast in old pots. Dusted, in a scabbard, undrawn. The purpose forgotten or something. Reminiscence that dribbles off into nothing. Childhood ends and life just gets taller, shadows and light playing hide and grow smaller. They touch for a moment. Fight the cold water. I could cast a pallid reflection- and spar with my last bubbling onus til I choke, grapple and end it. Nothing to toast with but blood for a bath or repentance. Reluctant to spite but delight in love's torment, nothing is quite like the height of the moment. Leading darkness on for so long it's become line of sight and it fries all my cone ends. Color me absent and paint me a martyr who died undevoted. Leaving the darkness on for so long, it hangs in the apartment, an idle enclosure that shrivels and grays all your garments.

Shit, Bane was raised in the darkness. I was raised in an apartment on minimum wage. Became bizarre with a bit of rage, put it in a compartmental cage. Partially to entertain. Watch this mosh pit play inside my conscience. Obnoxious. Fucking nonsense still bothers me to this day. Nothing’s forgetful. I still replay arguments I had back in the tenth grade. At a young age her parents were gone. She told me she uses because she’s a heroine when she nods. You should've seen her face when she woke up to learn that Paris was a mirage. I watched her carry her scars till they came apparent on her arms. I should’ve helped her get clean but instead I let her keep carrying on. She said it’s not a problem all the way to the cemetery in a box.

I'm never there when she wants. You could compare me to songs that never play at the bar. Put in your two cents a dozen times and stay one penny off. I'm stuck inside of your head but sort of dissolve to a tempo. Call it a silent crescendo. The words don't seem all so right. Perpetually flawed. So you nod your head, gentle, or something along those lines.