I know I’ll never fit my skin.
It’s tired, worn, useless, thin.
A star’s glow trapped in my eyes,
Yet buried in dark, I see no rise.
The weight on my chest,
from poison in my breath,
Plays the hymn of my soul,
on strings of my death.

My shadow, a wanderer,
where light dares not tread,
Dreams forged in the gallows,
where demons are fed.
Each song, a lament,
quantum sonnets ignored.
In endless night bound,
to the darkness I hoard.

My pulse-heavy hand,
strums loud as it can,
My heart...