Mud

Floating on a rug made of old paintings

It’s better than the first time

Always in the cloud

I hope I make it out and find

The image of the girl you drowned

All the old paintings, I hope he retained them.

Wednesday

For you, I found comfort in the shadows

Needlessly giving up to the light

You didn’t want to follow

So I took flight

Cut off my hair

Escaped to a place where the shadows

No longer brought comfort

I had already given everything

In fact, you’re already dead.

What ghastly arms you have 

To hold yourself up with 

The girls tries desperately

Her soul wanders on restlessly

Leaving her body, where they cause harm

Ahead the miles stretch 

The soul swirls into the fruition 

Of a Tricksters moment of acquisition

Oblivion, his knifes edge

Slow, slow

Remember the body 

It drowns, and drowns and drowns

Resting, on a bloody underbody 

What ghastly arms I have

To hold myself up with

Cessation occurs 

And I fall, into the abyss.