There I lie, unspoken, such disaster.
Words spill upon such fleeting note,
yet hold disregarded words I hath wrote.
Save me not from what lies hereafter.
Such rebellious winds grope about, my hair,
my curls, such caramel curls of spoken light.
Thoughts mine spilled astray without a care,
Headed by soldiers strewn about to fight.
I beg to leave alone what hath been done.
Era's nineteen summers held the flame,
through the day it dimmed to mighty shame.
The lighter sound, for I began to run.
Fish for love, for I stand upon my death,
with shadows, shade, licking my path.
Stand aside, for darkness has a wrath
that chews maliciously upon my final breath.
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