Whither infirmity, whither conformity
Painfully lodged in either lung as plumb-bobs
Digging lower my outline in the ground
I look up and spy Melas on my windowsill
His pearly grin fixed over my soul
Milky eyes burning through my mask
The only one who can break the seal
And set down in my world and mock me
Foolish heart, and foolish head
Your hope is but my butter and bread
Upon your hearth my laughter spread
I'll swallow you till you're coloured dead
Melas, my lodger and guest
My muse and my mirror, my thinnest hours
Mapped in your black cloak
Your smile my hated night sky.
@nepion_boreas17
