Burn it.

The charm of Endearingly Different
The Elegance of Eloquence
The Stage upon which I perform for the
You I do not know.

The airless chambers in which we pretend to breathe
Burn them.
Burn your favorite things to hide behind
My perfect little oddities

More and more these days
The nights seem quieter
The days shorter
And in the sterile hours of sleep
I pray for ashen rain.