Eventide finds me soley fixated on that case of stairs.
My precious paramour, like ever-constant clockwork,
Is to make her presence known.

Banister of mahogany, guideth down thine milky hand.

The vaporous incandescent then spake unto me that ghastly thing.
"Your breathing, alone, renders our incompatibility."

Tonight the world will open its mouth and receive me.
Light your candles, arc the neck. Recite the scriptures of sleep.
Of this life, I've had well enough. I pass my torch of grief.
Forward toward eternal bliss. Into the afterlife for me.

With gleamy, salty eyes,
Teeth in the lip, I'm mesmerized.
She gently nods and I henceforth cease to be.

In my oaken case, still and silent.
I am benumbed and deadened.
How can this be? What have I done?
Bound to eternally dwell on us.
And in each collected thought...
I cast a specter up above.

There may be hope for us yet.

Nervously climbing the stairs,
Ghosting vicariously,
There she stands.
We meet again.

Tonight the world will open its mouth and receive me.
Light your candles, arc the neck. Recite the scriptures of sleep.
Of this life, I've had well enough. I pass my torch of grief.
Forward toward eternal bliss. Into the afterlife for me.

For us,
I sacrifice myself.

Underneath a static sky,
I've never felt much more alive.
Pendulous lunar fixture, that familiar silver.
With calloused, sickly hands,
I unwind, trace your spine and forget everything.

Forget everything.

---

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