The yellow glow of rude health
Dried blood barcodes my face
Colourless all red, save slight eyewhite
Like a patch of grass-pocked snow in a ditch the sun never hits
I live there and always will
Stem which never wilts finally gives.
If I scream she will think me less manly and I will leave her dreams
Freedom of a form, I suppose.
In robes, per my role
Rolling nothing but threes
3PM the usual: lama sabachthani
Prolonged effects, drugs stronger than reckoned
For one a dose for two; suffer now the gloom of ungluing.
Alchemisland 
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