I want my name whispered among dustmites.
Slice open my skin and crawl on up within.
Go ahead, take your time, let it hold tight.
Perhaps you can ******* grey misery,
or perhaps the candle entombs the flame.


I do not know where it is your eyes gaze.
Spoken on the visage of times long gone,
or captured, frozen, pinned by the dull pain.
Forever smoldered, forever burning.
Perhaps with luck this gaze will soon reach mine.

Until then, I sit and stare and wallow,
and prepare for a brighter tomorrow.