sands through a sieve in my shape, with my name
sleeping fevered in my bed
tumbling inside out, choking
midnight daydreams to rest my weary head

reach out for that cooling glass of drink
fearful shaking, lifting anchors, creaking elbows
vignettes of nightmares left to rot and stink
permeating sickness smell, sweet and stale below

stiff as a board, light as a feather
begging for not to fall with these brittle glassian limbs
spindledd out and out, fractals forever
cried out like wolves in the night: at deaths whim

'The children sang, the preacher preach
gods own mercy out of my reach.
O death please spare me o'er another year'
what a luxury cowardice must be
to face away huddled from the inevitable
The creeping chill that chases the great, consuming flame
of rack and ruin, stealing writhing youth
dwindling strength into weakness
distilling wisdom to madness
dissolved in sweat and despair, 
hidden away between sheets, creased and yellowed
until in time we are abandoned to the bellows
far deeper into the dark than any weeping or gnashing
could ever hope to survive.
where the cynics drown
and traitors thrive.