Ubi ignis est?

Electric velvet with burnt out wiring. Negative space. Not bad for a seventeen year old kid in the anteroom. Afraid of midnight, watching the doorbell lights. Jump the nightly train, the whistle rocking. My radar runs a short, strip out the screws, don't forget the inserts. The composition of inhaled smoke drags down in the light. Dead legends, missing fingers, I say hatchet but I really mean lighters. Welcome home it's really right here, I'm searching for the sunken aerie. Costumes made from upholstery, drunken thrashing winning dartguns. The tension grows thick, the moments etched.