“After Hours” Album by The Weeknd


His voice like cider.

On my tongue’s tongue. My lips’ lips.

Drown rather than run.


Rest Alone Again.

Born in cold, peace, flurry, fear.

We are the souls, though.


Hours cake over lids.

Bleeding? Better shower twice.

Have Faith in bruising.


Empty, stripped Wild West.

Every Snowchild’s day dream.

Blinding Lights like suns.


Now I have questions.

About Vegas, how’d you know?

Emptiness transforms.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: