Dirt crumbled at my feet, as moths finish off my sleep. My whole skull is uncovered, unconcerned with greener leaves.

Will this comfort ever stay? I'm losing hope as it decays. Decorate my heart with iris, because its carcass has faded grey.

Lace my body for the crows; nest my ribs, and clean my bones. Residue of torture palpitates, from within its catacombs.

Who knows when winter will come, so freeze your lungs until they're numb. Because breathing isn't worth this turmoil, and I think the dark swallowed your Sun----