A bed of roses & their thorns

Behind the greasy windows, I see the sunset
staring with defiant eyes at it till it penetrates
and I cannot forget.
So even when I close my eyes I still see
the remainders of light on the insides of my
eyelids. The inside.

Greasy windows, I imagine some matted hair
on a heavy head, leaning.
Leaning against the invisible support, wishing.
Wishing for opacity.
Wishing I couldn't see right through.

Don't make assumptions. What you think you know
you think only.
I hate it because it's not always so easy
to read a person.

As each song paints another mood, so does
each dimmer moment of the day, till night.
In the night. In the night. In the night...
What is left to count or recollect?
The everything you have becomes nothingness.

The network in my heart is more
intrinsic than neurons.
Many memos in my head but
I just want to be like this
tonight.