-the walls are mumbling again.
the syllables are different
but the words are always the same.

wondering, pliant fools
the ceiling tries to sleep
but it's all no use.

find me a rhythm.
find me real soon.

salvage the pieces
of my home-brewed
gloom, in my ears
haunting the depths of the halls.
forever a ghost,
an echo, a murmur in a scrawl.-

hold me like you have
three        breaths left
and you need     two    of them
to whisper;
"always and forever, sweet    one."

to find peace in a stranger's embrace,
a risk i find myself willing to take.
and i know it's a strange kind of quest
to love with each pained breath.
yet i can't bring myself to reside
in a soulless abode of bitterness and lies.
so carry on, as will i,
to see a thread of myself
in every passerby.

-a dark brigade
carrying a funeral pyre.
held to the sky,
a message burning for miles.
weeping, is their war-cry
for grief they march,
to their battle of scorn.-