Next to your pyre
Nest to your flame
I am ashamed by my mortality
these days have made ash accumulating of me
the grown-up ghost I'm taken to be
a soundless sonder
Through another man's lens
through another boy's poem
you are still beautiful to me
Some other man's Eurydice
Some boy who didn't turn around
when faced with the world only a few steps away
Now I am buried under this city
practicing sleepless nights
I talk to you backwards and pray for the world to begin again
a double exposure in third person
the picture makes sense, the pieces don't fit together
My schizophrenia in monochrome
Limerance,
though spurious
pending supplication
