“In the company of imageries within my castle, I voice for everyone my next poetic verse. All the empty halls listen and echo my passion, And in darkly rich verse I immerse.”   Through the courtyard, pulls up a hearse, Beneath the arms of stone...

My hands—one holds a quill, the other holds a bouquet of anesthesia with ghost of a whisper, leaving no prints of my epitaph. Spilling whiskey on my words, drowning in ink, listening to the raven caw a guacamole, with...