Plight for sore eyes,
Dreams made in the dark,
Drawing circles around you,
I fill the air between the stars and me with desperate measures,
Pray that I'm not sifted,
I'm fighting nets at night,
Exchanging hands with waves,
Why do I embrace the sea?
This struggle....
Always defining the world around me,
It's not real,
But the waves swell beneath their master moon,
She pulled me under,
My paper boats with twisted black ink answers have unfolded,
Escapism: A kingdom has crumbled,
A ruin beneath an ocean,
Admitting I know nothing,
I wash ashore

Sometimes,
I open my mouth,
And you come out,
All of my teeth follow you,
Sometimes,
I turn my eyes,
And I see a picture of you
My heart sleeps in my stomach,
Sometimes,
I wake up,
And all of my fingers just fall off

My hands are seismic,
They shake against my neck,
Fingers like teeth walk across my frailties,
And waves knock against my chest

Nakedness and manifestations of the white noise mind traffic,
I watch the world turn before the fabricated glory of torches without flames and chariots without horses,
All saturated with the molecular movements of the air made with melodies not played for You,
This is the concrete sea of gasoline’s grace of novelties I once spoke of when I was a prince of sleepless men and my heart was determined to germinate the seeds of wicked kings,
Now with a crown cast down and cracked,
I am a dystopian eclipsing a dying sun to cast shadows on sleeping silent sinking houses,
As I watch them go down to where I've made my bed before,
I recall how they make me turn in my sleep before You,
Keeping keys deep below bowing floorboards whining with the weight of weeping willows grown by ghosts of a life once sewn and patched by my pity of distorted desperation,
My fingers keep my dreams from unraveling,
Locking them up tight tonight by hiding my face from it all,
Closing my eyes with my palms,
My lamps are bathed in blackness,
Darkness covers darkness,
And then I feel your hands lower the veil,
I see holes made by instruments of death forged in time,
Scarring You in a place that Kronos nor Thanatos cannot consider to tread,
I put my fingers through them,
I remember now that you paint such beautiful pictures,
Color me with your dreams now,
Your pigments have been poured out,
A gift was given to the dust,
Now I live to give it back to you,
And the haunted fluorescence of Babylon grow dim before your face,
The orchestral cries of mans machines grow silent,
Deep touches deep,
Sharing the oceans between us,
A love infinite consumes me

Hide my face from the spurious hopes of autumn,
They bloom from summer's desperation,
Their fruits are rows of teeth,
And they are planted in night seasons under cold stars,
Which stare down upon the children of those who turn in their sleep,
For they become sleepless men,
And I refuse to be their king

Here I am again,
Confessing the sins of my father manifested in a broken crown prince cracked over kingdoms falling from his tall walls to the rust and the moths before plunging on his polyester floorboard swords,
Yes,
Confessing these things to the carpet strands,
Tidal tales of the waves crashing ghost ships against my chest,
The strength of my youth is spent as a suburban castaway staring through the bars of my island cage built for birds without a voice,
There is an ocean between us,
And I do not know how to swim,
And I see no sign of my tugboat friends,
And I do not have any life saving self crafted defensive mechanical preservation devices to float through my insecurities with,
I am Icarus against a sun setting on these sleeping house that my feather wax weathered oars seem to snap against,
Dimmer days,
Shimmering street lights grab the dusk from the sky,
It is projected upon my midnight eyes,
Dead eyes,
I,
I could cling to these bones but,
They sleep below the earth,
And I stand before the sea,
Do you see me,
Oh God,
You have watched my wells grow dry,
I have set all of my hope on men,
And to you,
I come carrying this broken crown,
Can you hold my hands,
When it is filled with these,
Can you pull me from the water which folds over me

Her name is a knife,
Speak it for me,
Oh neck,
For we say,
*"She is called Night"