In weaving this, a wonderful mirage,
I place a veil of lacquer over empty catacombs
And painting little stars to hide alone where night is blacker
Than the part of me that knows that, in a way, it’s sabotage
Because I promise you a winter
And a sign of “None May Enter”

But here I have become a mere facade
An effigy I’m burning in the nights to keep me warm
And stifle any need I have to mourn for what I’m earning
Where the centipedes are crawling in the veins of dying gods
And I am just so very tired
Of the darkness that I’m mired

In hearing you, a siren in the fog,
My heart a steady rhythm made of dread I’ll have to drink
My hands are on the brink of reuniting with the prison
That I fashioned of impressions of forgotten dialogue
Because I knew what I was saying
When I chose the path betraying

But now there’s only corridors of smoke
A palace of attrition made of people that I lost
Where windows in the summer wear their frost like an admission
For within, it’s always winter
And my eyes see only violet
While I move without a reason
Navigating through the fog on autopilot


I steal the light from others
And replace with a shadow of a flame
They carry it a while seeing something like the colors
That were taken and devoured
And they scarcely realize they’re not the same

A grain and then another
And before you know it, like an hourglass
They slowly drain away behind the ever-shifting cover
Of illusion that was soured
Only once they realized it couldn’t last

I see them start to spiral
As they bend into the shape of my duress
Shedding their departures at the cost my arrival
Like a seed that never flowered
And their better moments sold for my request

A meaning given viral
So I offer them the needles that I use
To strip away the edges leaving pulses running idle
And a life that may have towered
Do I watch it tumble down because they offered me a lantern and the shadow in me couldn’t just refuse


Wings made out of never never flew
Where down below the fields of new elysium nobody knew
And shadows never dappled light when seen by very few
For seeds made out of seeming always seemed to be the dreams we never grew

Arms of never ending never yearned
Below the rigid carapace of cold where lonely summers burned
Creating a facade of shadow figures unreturned
For longing made of odds so very long becomes the longing that we spurned

Vessels full of loss were never light
The wings becoming shale before they even knew the word for flight
That wrapped around – an armor made of ardor that despite
The shifting underneath it was a ship and so a sheath in deepest night

Woes becoming woeful always were
The passages to ledges where the precipice is looming sure
To sink all the forever that we never did prefer
To seeds we made of seeming and of odds so very long upon a ship that won’t deter we carried plagues of our desire to land without a cure