My throat's been stuffed with cotton and silence.
Having absorbed your sobering guidance,
I'm tumbling down the pit-hole of vices.
Who would've known that chaos's so enticing?
Let the dark matter spill on your iris,
Watch the whole world strip off the titles.
These somnolent murmurs soothe my sore mind –
I like your gaze better, when hollow and clouded.
The storm is rising, as the water ignites,
Making my vision turn hazy and blurred:
I run for my life, yet get caught by the tide.
The unsightly spirit has been washed ashore.
Enervating embrace of my guardian angel
Drains the ambience from colour and sound.
I follow the cawing of my darling stranger,
As the moon suffocates in dreary clouds.