To dream of death, to dream of life.
In the
Whispered words, these walls breathe the inanity of accusation
And
A storm beyond what eyes can see,
but read my palm
In my darkest hour my blood runs free.
I’ve come
Strength of the spirit, means to an end
Returning a stranger
We settle for pleasure.
We revel in pain.
She will regret
Through the waxing, through the waning
amidst blackness a spark
Enticed by the myriad multiplicity,
Entombed by our own disguise.
We will
The voice cannot carry
The tongue and the lips that give
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