I look into your tear-some eyes with profundity. I scout with a penetrating gaze and see your realm of watery graves.   Those eyes of yours are the gates, beyond the reeking eyes is an abysmal mind.   The anguish welled within, there I meet you to bathe...

Under the winter day’s whispery glow, all is quiet here. This is my shattering. No more hymns of breath. Just waiting beside my tombstone. Dressed wildly in vines of time. Had you been a ghost too, would you have noticed me? Must death be the only way? Bound now...