❅ ❅❅❅ ❅❅❅ ❅❅❅ ❅❅❅ ❅❅❅ ❅

...damp
feet
make
shallow
graves
in
paths
not
swept
quite
fre­e
of
snow...

❅ ❅❅❅ ❅❅❅ ❅❅❅ ❅❅❅ ❅❅❅ ❅

it feels both like menace and comfort
like laying in damp grass
a threat of decay but a pillow of softness and promises.

What of the stories,what of you,what of the words or what of my dew
Lies and lies 
Strangled the fliers 
Witnessed it, he has admirers 
Sweetness and tartness ignored 
Mulberry swallowed but in the heart it sored
What would the 'dead lips' pen
When it had not the truth,son
Curses though slip off
Feelings be never any drawf 
For to hate 
Once there should have been love's bait tight
How dangling and dwindling 
No shore was he ever kindling 
Hours and hours 
It takes no par 
Touch not that knight 
He has swords defending with might 
How barren is he and
Knows not any scabbard
Those wands of enigma 
That suits not the noble hands off stigma
Suitors of temper 
Shooters of blood towels much damper 
Is it your blood ? 
Shut-up for god's sake 
Let's arrange him a slumber

Once lost in dreams,
Insomniac I became.

When red petals glittered,
Scattered color all around,
With eyes veiled under the dark night,
Colorless I became.

Then words sizzled,
Created storm,
Tore heart all around,
With uncried tears,
Voice choked,
Damp inside I became.

Ghastly winds stripped me naked,
Reality I became.