Mouth Full of Ribbons

I am a mannequin of myself;

a cheap impression who lives in the poorly told recollection of a morose drunkard,

a story full of regret and execration for the dense walls of the long, long corridor 

these thick sentiments veer on poorly balanced instruments

they vibrate with implacable sounds

from sources concealed by ignorance of themselves

they smear these tangled senses across each other,

the piano strings trapped under the wooden beam 

and murmur a sweet allure to another place from here, along every point

until we dwindle into our stupor,

unraveled and complacent 

The End

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