i dream of buried cities
the sunken metropolises of forgotten gods
the monster kings from before time
before space
before life.

it is not such a horrible thing
though i wake feverish and heart racing
never before could i paint with such passion
even little glimpses i pass along by brush
make brave men tremble
and stoic women rage.

dreams will be dreams
she used to say
and now she started saying it again
whispering from her ashes
secrets that nobody was meant to know
and while i was glad at first
missing her so much
missing her so
i wished she were still dead
she won’t stop talking
and sleep is getting far too precious these days.

it doesn’t stop when i’m awake now
the endless throbbing ringing burning in my bones
the edges of my mind unravel
and my body contorts under the lyrical command
of things that should be long dead
but can never die.

she’s happy with my progress
that was she says as her ashes stir in the old marble
soon i will see that there is no death and no life
there is only the unity of living death
eternally undying in the sunset land beyond the stars
but it hurts
and i forget who i am some days.

all this sticky crimson paints the room
is this my room
i forget
something smells sweet in the air
like fresh baked cinnamon buns
but somehow more exotic
while a flavor lingers in my mouth
coppery spicy and warm
and i begin to realize
i see what i have done and i cry
the face in the mirror isn’t mine.

whether sun or moon
awake or dreaming
the warped melody never ceases
driving driving driving driving
a voice that is no longer mine croaks out the first notes
if such things can be called music
and I sing day and night those perfect songs
the songs in fallen halls.