Not death

Breathe slow

Past coil

Jealous?

We don't know

Sad as plain sight

Fake intents

Misdirection and dense

Regrets for tomorrow

Until the demon runs

Mind will be blank

Conscious without reprimand

Disgracing self

And projected shadows

Into millenium of words

That trick only inside

Gross and perfect

Figured somewhat insect

Fear of movement

Ready to read

Never to explore

A monster that is a bore

No true faces

Just stolen ink

Anger in three ports

Without the eyes to close

Ever so unsubtle

Render one cold

With love as slow as shell

Until they grow the verdure fungus