The day  has now gone here is the night
It's twelve o'clock all lights gone out
Not a single soul no one insight
We look out the window no one about.

Eyes are weary we are fighting sleep
Time to clime up that wooden hill
Waiting for us is the bed and sheets
Tired and drowsy sleep we will.

The evenings are colder
The frost here again
But we are much older
And our health's not the same

So as we head to that slumber land
And we dream our cares away
We pull up the blankets with our hands
And say goodnight to the day.

yes something feels different

that day in february

last

the day as hot as summer

the sea by there as still as

i have never seen before

transfixed

while some cooed with delight

at their luck with such a grand

day

research started two hundred years

ago

yet what do i know

except it feels different

and the rug no longer on the cellar

floor

so we carry on

we had snow yesterday

and while all stopped still

in that valley

here we were fine

and carried on

A rotten skull
wired to feel melancholy

A nightmare self
that only saw freedom
at the tip of a kitchen knife
isolated from this life

A mind
with death plants
flourishing inside it

A garden of Angel's Trumpet
abloom with a deadly touch
recherché but poisonous

One of Azrael’s early visitors,
I’m now a flower in his graveyard