disrepair raze there was a crack in the window of his house. the window looked out on a past he hadn't been a part of. a past he'd been born too late to live through. from the place where the glass was at war with itself he watched an elegant city crumble. he fell to his knees and wept the tears of a coward. he arranged the clutter on someone else's bed into neater piles, destroying the logic inherent in the mess. he climbed onto the mattress as if it was his own and took a drag from a stick of clove dipped in mud, thin smoke trailing off of the tip. it smelled like death. 140324 what's it to you? who go blather from