This day, Winter sat upon the land,
Its bloodless knife sitting in its open hand...

Trust not the words which were wrought,
By sinners soul...

Contentment is not on my roster
Too close to the world...

Cold is the wind on this dusty soil,
Cold is the wind on these restless waves...

Murder-eyes look into me and say
like heresy, hear-say...

Through the veil of a thousand lines I see
pushing the membrane outwardly...

She is the name we do not speak,
The ghost-mirror in our intercourse...

Lost connection,
Grey flesh, concrete...

The cave of misconception
I am the roof of your dreams...

The King cursed to wither into bone,
The Lady cursed with child forever grown...

I was conceived in
A flurry of paper and ink...

I told you to listen,
But you wouldn't hear your name...