Hothouse

I run down like spilled paint

A sadness encompassed with a dark past

A fragile present gripping an ancient spyglass

Bones through skin hunt and pretend to predict

A future floating stagnant in a forgotten wasteland

I heard you tell me it would all pass

A shudder through my tired frame then back

A pallid skinned circus haunt on a round track

Voice empty of reason and scratched

A desert hothouse with the promise blotted out

Yet still your words ricochet around my dilapidated heart

An ever pre...