why is the afternoon my lull
and the nighttime my charge
my pillow my shroud
my dearest near cloud
although my nightlight might ****
my morning time push
I thrive as a ghoul, or
a cunning young fish
I swim through the road
a film on my eyes
every new person I flee
each lake I indulge
I dive from the plants
and skirt up the screes
drink up my value
as it gladly will flee
the noise is my shadow
I wish it would stay
but when I look back
it's already gray