What thoughts exist inside that head of yours?
You doubt, you dread, lie motionless in bed.
Some light or dark or some hapless horrors
Run round and round like ghosts that aren’t dead.
Your eye, no warmth, only madness expressed
But once upon a time, there was a glint
Of flame and fire and being obsessed
Possessed by days of ole, a mere short stint
So lying still on hard mattresses
In a lonely ghost town run underground
Breathing heavy with pain that buttresses
Perfume from senses and music from sound
In sadness, frozen, black birds catch my eye.
I flew with cawing crows to crests on high.
