So I sew stitches around the crown made of fingers twisted like a tangled dandelion strangled garden worn as a closet to hide my crafted paper daft boxes that I keep my skeletons in because their keyholes keep appearing on my face,
If you destroyed like me you'd see that ashes are the outcome of a matchstick man,
I cannot rest my head yet on my pillows made of dead rabbits feet and fox tails until I store them in their little coffee can tin jars far under this mattress pad of nails,
Warm words in cold rooms subsumes the silent night screens projected over by my rising motion picture smoke breath that my eyes watch alone now at a distance starting from my lucky lucky steel dagger full sized sheet set and ending at an omen reflecting my separation anxieties coming from my lungs,
Yet loneliness is the only person neatly tucked between it other than my own broken battered body with a shiver and a quiver discretely manifesting,
And like white ghosts the stars watch me sleeping at night,
You can flog all my windows,
But I'll still be sleeping at night,
I'll miss all your wake up calls,
Every single one,
So I let the music play,
Because noise cancels noise inside an introverted fire starter