Some days, only sometimes,
I crawl outside myself,
To wander the world's wonders,
Peering through it, like a shelf.

I walk the narrow road's way.
Whisper, wispy, thin lies,
To lead those astray,
That don't see with their eyes.

Burning in the light of the moon.
My ethereal flesh is a sight to see,
To touch it is a mortal sin,
A taste would fill one with glee.

I am no mortal in this form.
I climb the highest height,
To know I cannot watch,
The ants, the world in fright.

May I spread my wings of burden?
Go where I am not wanted,
To fill the world with fallacies,
Mortify. Justify, the haunted.

Time has run out for me.
Dreams I can no longer pervade,
To paint pictures, 'pon pulsing skulls,
I hold a purgatory masquerade.

I must return to be full of myself.
As I watch the thick skinned carcass sleep,
To know that what I am,
Is a troubled man, pathetically counting sheep.