as the cobwebs dangle through my precious
pale, spider like fingers as they twirl
their silver thread, molding a skeletial key.
It alone unlocks the darkest secrets,
which only evening alone can forsee.
I walk the midnight, I walk the shadows
with ever nerve in my body vibrating.
Here shall be the cell, dwindling away for
eternity to waste, subside with rotting clocks,
to subdue the decaying bones.
No sunlight upon my skin, a face so ashen it
already belongs to a dead man.