Some Sort of Intimacy

Oil war reverb
still washes ashore
an allowed sadness
soaked heavy like my
anagrammed identity
An alien wing span
covers the sun,
my friend is bleeding,
and all I see is desert.

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Lonely collage of brotherhood
which beige walls could
never capture, fuel this
antithetical grid of dialogue
between Man and loss

Fucking amalgam of
a thousand relapses,
find me in hair line opaque
one short circuit away
from suicide

This is torture, layered
in some sort of intimacy,
warn me before commitment
said the oblong truths
tidied in my linear kismet