Nocturne

This room is a dungeon
Swinging light, your prison cell
The bars I see
Rusted yet mighty
Haunting the dark side
Of my eyelids

This city is a forest
Of marionette dolls
Countless strings ascend
Yet all eyes fall
And a soft breeze leads to
A subtle clattering
False teeth and
The incompleteness of time

This silence is a narcotic
Sold as a symptom in the whistling hours
Fearless cockroaches crawl
Across my skin
Invisible yet more apparent than you
Couldn't be my fault
Yet I blame myself again
And shutter...
Shutter

This absence is a cold blade
Suddenly warmed
By the shock and the bite
And the taste of my flesh
In my chest
Where it's warmest to hide
I don't blame it
Out here it is, after all,
So very frigid in fragility
But poor knife
To find only a hollow
And the beating echo
Of a skipping tape's
Magnetic laser loops
A tripping escape
Of hidden hoops
Which must be jumped through
Then remade again
In the likeness of
The one I miss
The one I love...

(This sigh is too scripted
This breath too rehearsed
This sleeplessness too familiar
This discomforting bed
All empty and waiting
For use it receives
Only in early morning
When exhaustion
Finally overrides
The conversation
I grow less and less
Able to hide)