The title reads "Petite Redhead"
Pity it is content
With filth

A record recycling junk
Strums together a jingle
Echoing its own hollow verse

Triggers and pins
Always seem to accompany
The gun

The grip is soft
Side rail cold and beautiful
Like an old bottle of ***

My mind is sporadic
Seeking any conclusion
Requiring nonsense to fill the gap

Deceitful fingers
Lingering
Ready for digging

Her body still warm
Acting as a proxy pillow
The compromise of comfort

White to red
Crimson stains not withheld
A result of the rolling tide

Wrath of blood
Brought to fruition
And supplementation

To feel nothing
Is blissful and pure
Welcoming to heaven

The taker of life
Listening to a Redhead
No realistic sounds beneath

Thoughts trickle down
The slanted jaw
Thick and strong

Eyes dim and shallow
Seeking a remembrance
Of yesterday's rain

Lips thin as paper
Chewed in distress
Down to a soft pink inflammation

When did I forget?
Touching and feeling
Even the familiar crime of regret

The song "Mary did you know?"
Becoming a creature comfort
Invoking a religious tether of tension

His love, not mine
The passion alone
Is sacred

I choose
Loneliness
To spite his' light

For life is black
Darker and colder
Than the moon

Down through Buckingham
Atop the trolly named
"Splendor on the Rhine"

Between a sea of ruffled feathers
A caravan that bewilders all in sight
People seek a goblet of truth

All the tricks and games give way
To orphaned eyes that cry
Sending all the pain away

The candles are lit,
Sun is low.
Desire is pitiful
Because as an entity,
It proves to be singular.
This characteristic favors
Only one route.
A path lacking
Mobility and fluidity.
There are no curves
Or bends
Along the extended appendage.

I have fallen
Off this highway,
Looking for
A complex sympathy.
All I found,
in my distress,
was a dismal pain.
It was very simplistic,
Lacking creativity
Or an enchantment of time.

For so long
I suffered
Numerous disappointments.
It is such a trifle,
My complaints,
Always seeming to annoy
Or fall on deaf ears.

For what does it matter
If they don't listen?
Even if they did,
I would still not be able
To conquer my fears
Or vices.
Where to go
And what to do?
I still have no clue.

Clover and Dover
Cliffs and boulders
I shall fall over

Sober to the pinch
Water pours into my sores
Soul is sold

Lifelessness in sobriety
Awake but not alive
The nightmare has arisen fourfold