Stained ink to bring wanting. With concave, lights twisting

notes. Fingertips in unreal closet. Lights with mildew out

nothing. Pure broken tapping closets to ink fingertips.

Dark was the night in the hour that you left me
I had no idea to bid you a farewell
And in the night that you had left me
I did not know the essence that you had claimed
And on that night my lungs were clear and free of mildew
But at the break of dawn, my heart was not the same.