What! What is this
What an odd combination
to feel like one’s blood is flaming
But also as if it’s dead?
You live inside me
You hollow the sickness from my bones. I will hold on to you, Star-maker, do not leave inside this cold.
I cannot stop running, yet am so very still
Something is wrong, I am sick, I am ill
Music cannot chase away the tar that is consuming all my blood
I sing like a jester but my eyes are growing dimmer
I am torn apart by the cavernous dark,
And I cannot explain away the echoes that roost inside my heart.
Fancy words desert me
And I crumble like a child.