I don’t thirst for the sun
when it’s gone and I rest,
where the dusk made a nest
and my mind fell behind.
When the moon rules the light,
the soft blue warps my sight,
dovish hue burns my skin,
lays a veil as a guise.
A smooth cutting knife
makes a victim of my ties.
Tender darkness hides my sins,
warms the cold I keep inside
Don’t the vultures sleep at night?
Prowl in circles, aim my chest,
the kind of dead flesh they digest.
Is it wrong that I’m not scared?
In the dark I close both eyes,
let them guide me while I’m blind.
I don’t wish to follow dreams
since the sun has left the sky.
Oct 16, 2025
Oct 16, 2025 at 9:21 AM UTC
I don’t thirst for the sun
when it’s gone and I rest,
where the dusk made a nest
and my mind fell behind.
When the moon rules the light,
the soft blue warps my sight,
dovish hue burns my skin,
lays a veil as a guise.
A smooth cutting knife
makes a victim of my ties.
Tender darkness hides my sins,
warms the cold I keep inside
Don’t the vultures sleep at night?
Prowl in circles, aim my chest,
the kind of dead flesh they digest.
Is it wrong that I’m not scared?
In the dark I close both eyes,
let them guide me while I’m blind.
I don’t wish to follow dreams
since the sun has left the sky.