Hey there, lover,
I've seen you in my dreams
and my heart hasn't slept since,
in fear of getting hooked up on you;
but even in insomnia,
she can't escape.
I want you around, lover,
but one of us will have to get hurt,
and it can't be me again.
You'd better run, lover.
I'm not who I used to be,
now I bite and I scratch,
and  I make sticky webs,
and you wouldn't want to get caught up in them.
Farewell, lover,
I'll pay you a visit
when I can't fall asleep.

A voice is calling my name,
from fogged surroundings,
begging me to come.
My legs are led into pitch
and I dive in deep,
oblivious to my own decline,
into a continuous darkness of self.
The voice still bellows,
with newly found screams,
and mean eyes gaze at me,
glowing with satisfaction.
I am eaten out alive by the unknown
and going back is not an option.

I let myself sink into you,
not once regarding warnings
of storms and wrecks.
I pass them by,
being certain the fall shall hurt.
But why should I care?
I'm hopeless and I'm cursed
and I'd rather drown into your waters
than dry up completely
on the shore.

We are creatures born from fog,
each of us emerging from musty pasts,
doing our best to hide them,
and breathe in mystery,
and breathe out sin.
We make our way through smoke,
never asking what our path is,
but floating in a daze,
to a destination unknown.
There is no light at the end of this tunnel,
there is no clean air.
Our souls have become shadows;
you can see them lurking
from behind symbols of misery.
We are the people of darkness,
we are the ones you fear,
we steal dreams
and bring about nightmares.
We share our home with death itself,
in its purest form.

I gracefully turn myself mad,
jotting emotions
that could cut me raw,
while bowing to whispers of fog.
I can't contain monsters of cranky reality,
knocking, knocking,
BANGING
at my door.
There's folly floating in the air,
filling up my lungs.
I shall succumb to it,
or else suffocate.

You have no idea what goes on in my mind:
thousands of flying insects,
buzzing,
biting at my brain,
spreading darkness,
and dots and dots and dots
of agony.
I'm spotted and I'm haunted
by sounds of the world below.
Madness turns me into pieces,
it eat me out alive,
it makes me bow my head down
on dirt,
and the dirt starts climbing up.

Such an oddity:
not to feel anything at all.
One cannot describe the emptiness
that makes you fall into yourself,
desperately trying to fill a gap
that is designed for hollowness.
Should my heart stop,
I wouldn't know,
for it already it
half dead
and half invisible.