The face of melancholy
Sometimes all you do is remind me,
How walls are enclosing
Life.
How far away must the hope be,
Towards which always we...
Run yet stray away, I might.
Over-rule my own self in this bathroom,
Give out my last exhale before the carnations bloom,
Watch this vein of mine become a river, a sliver, a rune...
To sicken.
I lay my youthful worries on the ground to rule some other roots some other fool,
While I dig away a place to rest and pray that I don't drool  on this placeholder of life to let the lilacs bloom in mockery.
By the time I wake up I will arrest the awful need to return and make the grass my sheets and the bulbs my pillow,
Dig further and hope I never reach an end below.
I pray I am forgotten quickly and never searched for remains, I pray to never watch you suffer ever again
And so I'd try to be the soil beneath the life remaining,
Some mournful quick loss to lessen the tension, to plumpen the entertainment.
A casket made of flowers, stuck to the pavement,
A breath unshaken silently kept.