Martle

I don't even know where this is going, I hate it...

I lie awake for hours with you,

felling chimes of brassy gold, and bleach

blue strangled waist

of such forsaken hope, devouring scars -

mindful tricks toying on me, with myself

there, paining departures thought gone,

are still, dead-silence

nothing to yours. Comparison to whom..

none compare.

still, flawless as motive notion

where there is only, a sempre 

of silent dreaming, 

divine suicides, all but to, far away

that everyone lusts, cold wuthering  

steals. this 

Will be my night. I'll let your soul alone.