in the garden of my life,
the seed of death is planted.
the seasons roll over me
like the winds over the ocean.
the tree of love bears no fruit
and the ivy and vines of isolation grow tighter.
the night sky is a mirror:
every star is collapsed.
each gulf is expanded by the absence of all the yawn of time;
half the moon laughs at my misfortune, justly,
while the other half, unseen, weeps.
dreams that fill my silences are destined not to come true.
every word has become flimsy and untrustworthy,
but they're all i have to build a bridge that reaches you.

(if hell is other people
then submit me to the devil's reign.
if solitude is freedom
then slip me into the heaviest chains.
allow me my weakness—for now, for now.)