at night, alone, it seems
my heart is ripping at its seams
torn by sunset's pull,
reaching out, for naught, it seems
my heart is ripping at its seams

the threads so caref'lly stitched,
tightly gripping my blood-bag's crease
waiting just for cruel fate's bite
or when the day turns into night

seeking, almost, to be forgotten,
lying, torn, only to turn rotten
inside me still, my heartstrings scream
whilst from their barren cage, pours steam

at daybreak, then,
my heart is mended
as though the night's events were pretended

i know now how
the blood can flow
and disregard
what i think i know

my mind is clear,
but it seems for naught
as again i feel the blood
begin to clot

slowing, beating,
struggling to rest
my eyes turn red
as the sun sets

with the star at noon
i feel relief
the moon incurs agony,
doubt, and grief

at night, the dark, alone
it seems
the ripping seams,
it seems…

are only in my dreams