Brown skinned recluse, but you don't want to be drunk off my poison. My obsession is to sink these vampire fangs so deep as I creep through the furthest corners of your mind. Entwine you in the endlessness of my mind's innermost web.

I fail to see the beauty in the blue skies and green trees. Something deep inside is horribly wrong with me.

Your sharp words were so ablative to my aching spirit. And I hate admitting that drowning in alcohol is my personal ablution.

Demons creepin, but I'm the only one rollin with the heathens. Flesh pit misanthropic tendencies, beings so offensive to life itself, fuck yo health. Apathy is my closest ally when the vigor spills from the open holes from these broken soles. Soulless as my hands encompass the soiled footholds. Its so fuckin cold.

The moths of summer are no longer hungry for the light.

Enfeebled pursed lips that only longed to drink the waters that would fulfill my deserted soul. The mere contemplation of teetering on the seesaw between life and death as my feet dangle over this cliff. Little voices of mischief reminding me of a time paradoxically so close and yet so far away. I do recall times when the souls of old would give me company, telling me their stories, accomplishments, failures, detailing their excruciating wounds from loss. This was my home, this brooding cliff-side that reached up to the hellish skies above, kissing the storm clouds that reached out  to the sea.

I reminisce over times when we'd bond, foreheads pressed together. You'd feel the sweat of my brow, your essence squealing in joy knowing that I adamantly demolished the pillars of your inward prison. But these memories seem more like mindlessly devised dreamscapes, some feverish hallucination. I don't remember warmth in these times, and I've grown terrified that I may have lost the desire for it as well. I've long since ceased the painting of my blood upon the canvas, and yet you return to me to protest the severance of my tongue.

I must admit to you that my silence is pleasurable to the global audience. It is better to shut up the wellspring of my heart than to even dare attempt to nourish people with such a tainted spell. My drivel is dishonorable to those I call friends. Why do you force me to do this? What pleasure do you derive from opening my floodgates? It is better that my eyes would cease from blending with the cycle of summer rains. I beg of you, let my body find rest in these parched sands, let me return once more into nothingness. It seems so peaceful and alluring to return to that veil, that infinite void where not even a mouse can be heard scurrying in the blistering frost.

Why is it that you always caress me in autumn with those ominous wings. Your wings that give way to such baleful winds, and yet as you uplift the foundations of my damaged being, you are so gentle with me. I am desolation, destitution incarnate, and yet each day you whisper in the hearts of those I have looked after speaking that I am enough. What light can you see in such tattered rags? Let me succumb to end of my battles. These wounds are too great for me to continue on. And yet old friend, I still cannot help but take note of your sweet scent of dew on honeysuckle as you flow past me. You are distant, but I still see and smell the oiled colors on your fingers. You paint for me, acknowledging my burden.
Maiden of summer whose heart refreshes in the winter, where art thou?

He who associates his aching soul with the lowly. He who shares the selfsame suffering of those whose blood have kissed the barren deserts. These tears are so sweet, fermented through hardened times, yet the heart itself is the most tender.

"Morning, Mr. Harper."

Walking home from a long day at the mill. Southside chicago on a rainy evening. Been hazy all day since 8 in the damn mornin type of day. Just feelin tense, but not really payin attention to the bullshit that surrounds me.

Paper reads October movin' onto November. Year is 1934.

Stoppin' by my bar, orderin' the usual beer.

Reading through the same old plastered news stories. Murder this, kidnapping that, stocks rise and fall here and there. Everyones got blown back by the depression, but shit its a saving grace I still got my job.

I'm 34, and ma keeps callin' 'bout when I'm gonna get married. Always askin' about when I'm gonna bring a girl back home. I would if I had the time, I'm too busy writing in these old books about dreams, fantasies and wishes that no man could see.

 Y'know, I keep gettin' word about whats goin' on overseas, some big thing is comin' our way. I can see a lot of violence on the horizon. The band of bloodbrothers are gonna go marchin again soon.

 But that ain't my fight...

A little prayer here and there to bring color back to the grey areas in my life. Just one of those days when daily occurences feel so way out of whack.

But I contemplate to myself sometimes, are my prayers selfish? I mean... I own alot of what people would kill for. But at the same time, old Jack outside my apartment window, 3 floors on another planet is beggin for dimes and nicks.

Old friend of mine from Miami decided to send me a little gift. Case of cigars from Cuba, and an exquisite bottle of brandy for rainy days just like this one. I can't help but laugh, even in the midst of my loneliness. Y'know, its crazy though. I still dream of Molly with the red hair and blood red dress at times. That sultry smile she sent my way back at the jazz club. I find it funny that I'd deviate to a different scene than usual. The music was damn good, enough to cure any man of his sick days.

But you could tell by the spark in ol' Molly's eyes that she's not the type of gal to bring home to ma 'n' pa. I wonder if that whole love game is still worth it. I thought about gambling my chips time and time again, but.. women? They want somethin a man ain't ready to give so easy.

Decided to give Mikey an extra 10 buck tip for the drinks. Coulda sworn I saw a tear in his eye when I handed him the cash. I feel like it was a selfish move. Just to make myself feel better at the end of the night.

Ugh... God dammit, you can hear the Christmas carols long before Halloween comes to ya doorstep. Never been one for these winter holidays.

I might just fly down to Florida again this year, a little "summer" getaway.