A
      racing
            heart
is not all       that I gained
When you said you would,       yes,
      to seeing       me

Not the source,
            but the desire       of true,       anxiety
      Your mere value alone       creates
the most anxious,       me
      To have       ever      been
            The hope       which once
Was just       a plea

He wandered the pages of a languid space
a servant of the abyss
in ghastly fear, he stepped and stumbled
upon my ruins as his heartrace tumbled
down the stairs of the starry abyss
a trajectory of dread
his fingertips painted
of words with heads
letters with legs
and poems of death
on the walls of the abyss
he, of all, the servant of those
who are older than we
shuddered at the noise
of the silence behind
and of what was waiting ahead
narrow paths; alas
servant; alas; were crowded with dread
he wandered the pages of a languid space
where dandelions embraced his uncanny footsteps
and a rebirth, they claimed
he caressed the poems of my demonic despair
what have gotten the servant
to my robotic disgrace
as he escaped the abyss
where my dirges; remained