when you reach the end and look back upon the days gone by....
the soft grey mornings, beauty not seen - too hungover from the nights forays - wasted time - to wake up early...
slow painful afternoons - stretched like old snakeskin - end to end...
hot crazy nights... waking up - the same nightmarish ordeal continues....

looking back at those intricate threads laid out like patterns in an ivy leaf, could we ask the question - if doing things differently would've led to another life - for better or for worse - a different life... could we have said the right words? or not said the wrong ones...
or would it just be someone else asking those questions - not me...

"we live, we die and death not ends it
journey we more into the nightmare clinging to life our passion'd flower
clinging to cunts and cocks of despair
we got our final vision by clap
Columbus' groin got filled with green death
(I touched her thigh and death smiled)"