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The colors tend to fadeBlues to black, reds to greyI can see them with my eyes closedLight refracted like it once wasIn a room with more mirrors than booksYour prose needs editing but your poses are well rehearsedConcessions that I makeI'm not looking to be deified - I ain't no saintIt's you I see with my eyes closedUnfinished fiction that my mind wroteIn a room on the floor in the mirrorI watch myself move as if you were hereThe cool side of the pillow on the wrong side of the oceanFearless flies in my mouthDead moths in the sheetsLie so still like paralyticTonight I'll sleep in the gutterTomorrow I won't rememberBy the time I'm home this nightmare will be only a dream From Letras Mania