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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

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