My thoughts are dark;

I saw people at night
I thought they might be dead

It's the living I'm scared of;

I hallucinate to the world of unknown,
The spring has succumbed to the night
Where the undead summons potions and rites;

I live in a dark box;

It floats in the Artic and i succumb to the snow

Naked self, shivered not
The boisterous cloth of human skin seemed to freeze

I blossom in a shelf where history latched to me

I sleep under a heap of hair,
I eat not by the fire
I sip cold tea.