I can feel that itching in the veinsnto sugar coat with the arsenic glazensoft destroyer reapply the buffernchase the moon to an ethyl gravenparched sun seep draw and quarternthe body landscape quakesnbleed out repeat transfusionnleft wanting with the empty achenncommiserate every peak and pitninebriate with a barbed conduitnnreplay the impulsenthe hand to the lipnexhale and swallownthe tumblers will tipnto pour out the nightsnand wring out the daysnwhen the drought comesnwe're scoured alone