Think my veins are made of something like boiled red wine of late, - like that blood red moon eclipsing everything beyond the stars. Rememberin' the night in California we heard the wolves howling up at it across the dessert fields, and a bad shiver went up through me then that's hardly faded since…
Outside there's people shouting into the churned-about wind, and as it is around here - can't tell if it's out of drunken joy or haunting fear. Can't tell the shrieks from one another anymore - they just get lost in the cars and the echoes and the buzzzzzing of that motel neon sign.
We just forget anything was said.
Guess I'll go to bed with my demons tonight - they seemed to be what's summoned up. Pit-feeling threatening - swinging that ole eerie pendulum between the kind of road-wearied glad-to-have-had-it pain you meet like a friend - and the monster kind of sickened turns. Hating broken bones for the mistakes they've known, the wrong doors they've walked me across.
But maybe all this is really the ending of my haunting. Now that the ghosts are out & about to play with every lonely soul that gets caught out past twilight - now that other companions can be found for them.
Now is when I feel a sense of being myself - this season every time, and these days&nights of recent late after so very long... When everything is cloaked in shadows - it evens out.
Lurk around corners no more, why don't you move on too old spirit? Give up on what you already abandoned, the house has fallen crack-on-crack inside itself… It's October when such things seem so very beautiful and eternally perfectly placed…but it's just a witchy trick. The snow, then spring, wipes it clean -- then it only seems barren too. It won't make the year end - this "you and I" is dead.
There's such greater things ahead! Such sweet things that go down like amber whiskey... everything that feels like change and winter.
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