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| I watch the asphalt disappear under the tires Miles of it stretching for as far as the eye can see But it's not my destination I'm thinking of For these dreams of the hangman Plotting my demise Her melodic voice giving my funeral hymn But I suppose it's very nice When you're an optimist or despised I swear she must hate me Invisible lines trace the paths of flies Giving incoherent signs And beautiful black opal eyes Like a demon Her dress is devastating And her hair is full of life I coax this outer layer of her Reclusive and percise I wrote this poem for you But it's for no one now And a yellow centipede will emerge from the brush Passing against my palm Always remember There is enough venom in this world To kill us all |