How to Preserve the Life of Death

Sweet Lorraine
And as I crumble through the window
Wishing it was again to be sand
And that I was free
Or something
Or anything
Other than a young man who stands
Doe footed and pigeon eyed
Someone like her
Or this
Or that
The magnificence
Yes that was it
Revel forever will I in it
For I am that poor starstruck lying little boy
Who only can vomit after Lorraine won't leave
But of course alas
This is not what causes such nausea spells
And I had a mere three glasses of fucking new Amsterdam gin
Damn straight
No lime
No lemon
I know it slowly kills Lorraine
But I am not I
I am another me at the moment
Obsessing and infatuated with preserving the posterity of what is soon to take me under