Nothing left but rain,
and towers of bones.
Animals dance lazily.
No shame, the blame.
 
If you have a soul,
you can’t give it away.
Wanting the sun now.
No shame, the blame.
 
Fire burning, and I read
Bukowski and Dickinson.
Their words are some, small relief.
No shame, the blame.
 
Relentless, your condition.
You cry, for yesterday
And I, allow myself to be.
No shame, the blame.