I slide in and out of my room,
closing the door ever-so-gently,
I don't come back until the break of dusk.
Sometime later.
I feel like I can't go into my own apartment,
I cannot trust myself to leave any doors open,
Or even leave my toothbrush not hidden.
I fear the creaking of the shadow in the other room.
They live with nothing.
They live with horror,
and muster up terror.
I am afraid of seeing the shadows utter in the space of our apartment.
The sun doesn't shine on our space,
it burns it.

Shadower of the valley, dying of wisdom--

strung along since seven holes played

the Charmer's flute.

The licentiousness of your poetry, makes

days of worship drag along, inspiring

idleness in all its wickedness.

Leveler of leagues, unlikely elbows falling

together in deeds.

You freeze a whorled dance in the hollowed

trunk of a tree, to wait out the world you

impel.

Forever retiring to the terrible weight of its

foundation, having had the gall to drink its

basest, bitterest secretion.

Poison by any, and no other name...quenchless

blows by the scepter of you in deserted time.

As the truth be hidden in plain sight, so they

to you for salvation.