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Wither in this tourbillion
Enveloped in the kind of madness
That circles around a mind of doubt
Seep into the windowless vestige
Imminence plays what the present cannot
As stillness moves throughout the landscape
The scribe unmarked
Ensuing a god, it persists
Slay the messenger
A Candle whispering in the silence
The faint glow of embers
An embrace
Cold is the darkest embrace
A madness entwined
In desperation
Searching deep within
Spiraling into the abyss
In the parlor of scars
I scratch echoes into the flesh
And iridescent fog from my breath
That instills stories on the fragments of windows
Fragments
That have shattered
when I left the prose and runes behind
Vagabond
Singing sweet the play write
Blessed and fierce, torn like a family of paper dolls
I search in my mind
Fleeting words and lost lambs
That I sacrificed so longingly
An illusion