12:42 and another for you.

You've turned to smoke--alone--
In my mind
An idea marred by shrieking ideals.
Not a body in the passenger's seat,
Or a corpse in the backyard--
Rotting till the neighbors dare to smell you.
And I wonder if you know I barely sleep.

And they ask with side-turned eyes
"What, do you, Child, know of love?"
And I reply,
"Why,
Absolutely nothing!
And you know...
Despite the fumes and eyes,
The putrid corpses, sleepless nights;
Languishing 'fore these mirrors,
Here--I find

I can not describe it."