Cold, this fickle breath evades me,
Consuming life with this light that shines brightly over the distance
Yet is close enough to obtain.
My digits are frozen in this stagnant air, triumphing over all.
A cadence unravels me, unerving as it rattles through me.
Iāve grown impatient for the end,
Yearning for all these infinitely finite possibilities to come swiftly.
Is this the last? Oh, it has to be.
Iām twirling down the spiral,
Words reaching out to me, sung in honey suckle,
Betraying these forbidden halls.
In my mind, Iāve severed the chords.
Shut the door!
I donāt want to hear angels while feeding demons,
Hungry to cannibalize my interest.
Subsequent, airless,
Iāve whisped higher into a void where time evades, an unseen abyss.
Breathless in this embrace,
I canāt stop the cooling of deathās kiss. Amongst yourselves, discuss ghosts in your abbey,
Iām not haunting here.
Ghosts can be emotional too