In a cold and dark windy hallway called my deepest sigh
I look out upon the swaying, bubbling sky
champagne sunsets turn to ebony nights
with a big hole filled with a creamy, clouded moon
deep-seeded memories skirmish in my head
another day, another dry heave to the wind
the pots are rolling with the boiling
steam rising up to paint the walls wet white
and I down in the stratosphere beneath my floor
hard to look up and listen to the fuming world
painted with the illicit acts of the damaged mind.

By

Aaron Echoes August