On starless nights,

I wake up in a cold sweat

with it lodged

in the canyons of my throat.

Usually, it burns a hole

through my esophagus and drips

down to my collarbone, where it ricochets

off of knobbly,

pore-soaked mountain-tops.

And lands with a splat!

On my alabaster walls,

staining them mahogany,

like your hands and the kitchen knife

And my stomach

It spills out of my cereal bowl

on rainy mornings, when gray whispers of thunder

seep through cracks in the crimson

walls of my house.

The sweet song of  

lightning hangs like

a death sentence,

watching, waiting, in damp air.

the cloud bursts

And torrents of acid rain

trickle down,

Down, to

land on my face. they burn,

Oh how they burn! and

it reminds me of you

On naked streets

where the scent of sewage waltzes with

rancid desperation,

It creeps into my skin like jaundiced tar.

Whipping my lungs, sundering my bones,

it scalds holes into my arms

The same way your cigarette

torched craters into the smooth,

smooth

surface of the moon.