Hell hath no fury,
Such broken nothings you hold dear.
All the ways, all the time.
A pair of jeans splintered in spangled carmine-blondish sheen.
A phone, a person you, dear,
held, it had no fury,
only a vast knowledge how to fly, crumble and disappear.

Hell is other people.
Their stares, sheeple just a touch,
oh sheeple me do, the mirror has broken,
I would not kill, I am hell of sheepish behavior too.

(In the morning light)

Thunder bottled good, no price for teary rain,
I am a boat with vast knowledge of sea that is your name.
Blunders gobbled good, all smiles in tears, and rain,
and a boat, crossing along some misspelled fortune and tortured fame.

Catorno

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