let me stick my hand in the damn blender

if I want to.  I used to be flaming swords

and nighttime drives with the windows 

down and lungs full of spiteful happiness.

a temple to a god that can still get it up.

the city still blotted out the stars but

at least the void was warm.  the chances 

that we could get out of it alive were nil but

at least I could taste the blood on my tongue

and be the instrument behind my own

destruction.  the audience hadn’t filed out

yet.  I still had a chance to make it.  nobody

needs the ending as much as the writer does.