Nights are gay, lights are dim,
Men repose, I stare at him.
I drink the fatal cup to the brim,
Purple-stained, gale-lashed rim,
When men repose, I stand and stare at him.

Nights are cold, lights are low,
Men retreat, I stand alone.
Inch by inch, row by row,
He devours me all,
Consuming the bones.

Tinkling of ice, death standing pale,
Men repose, I fail to exhale.
Framed countenance beside the lampshade,
I long for the fingers ,
The blast caress.

Smell of the shirt, smile so thin,
Carefree a heart, careless a whim.
Blood in my hands, beads on my frons,
Faculty dead, numb,
Colossal a din.

Despondent a soul, decrepit a spirit,
Thunderous sounds the clock,
The fleeting memories.

When men repose, I sit abreast,
The dim of the shade, haunts my breath.

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