To minds that shore upon the resting waves:

Buried by passageways we named.
Circumstance that never had a face,
To better hide the weighted frame.

To bodies that scream at bitter ironies:

That spit out words in hopes that someones listening.
The pity of life's embrace with your decadence.
Breathing in vain is all the same.

To souls that learn the cold will let you in:

A night for bliss forbids the pain.
This summer heat will never settle in,
Reluctant pressure never letting go.

My body might as well be escaping me,
A book on a shelf for nobody else to read.