Underneath these artless skies I marry the ghost within you because the stories are now screaming mad, and dark, and every time your name rolls unto my tongue, it thunders, and I tremble, and tremble, and like a thousand ships set against the tide, I will my eyes to sleep; cold as ice, mother, pray tell how does one go to sleep when Thanatos is the one weaving the blanket; rather awake than dead; half a heart than half a soul; tell me if I open you up I'll find anything other than flesh, other than nothingness; you're so vacant and uninhabited, I forget you're not an abandoned building; tell me how I can go to sleep without being woken up by the ghost of you in my head, dancing to music we once made when we touched; I'll revisit those little joys, and maybe I'll understand why empty vessels make the loudest noise.