These phantom whispers
kill me. Their hollowed
eyes and wretched lips.
Narcotic death.
This sweet silence,
a drunken kiss.
Our lips are tainted
with bittersweet words.
Melancholy death makes
its bed with me.

My flesh consumed,
and so it called, a
reminder of former
carelessness, do not
fight this reprieve.
Our dreams ripe with
hunger. The menacing
shadows dulled. so
does vivid death
lie open to me.