I am infatuated with death, especially those it leaves behind They covet a breath which is their very loss perfectly defined and if squandered degrades a prize lost eternally to the dead Land wandered by ghosts; trails which are no longer truly tread Words recounting oaths, dirges and tales cease to be duly said Us living bear mounting urges to discount the wisdom of the bled Puzzling it is to...
The most exquisitely torturous Fantasm
Ah, to awake sweating and breathless from a nighttime emissary apparition. Perhaps the only sadness which is briefly but intensely enlivening. Oh, but the melancholy afterwards… Still, it’s been a while now - is that a good thing? Gently I awoke, to feel you softly breathing abreast, in perfect frozen serenity you laid Still, I eyed you with a mindful disbelieving Far too immaculate...