I long to be your eyes and ears, to see the world from a consummate position.
I want to be the reckoning, approaching ever faster through the fields behind you.
I long to be your lasting fears, I want to be your midnight apparitions.
I want to be the sound only you hear when you yawn. Let me be the sweat in your pores.
As I’ve seen elation before, though I’ve felt seen anything like ‘the famous light’.
I had to go. But does no longer despair reside behind dead eyes at night.
I warned you so. I feared the call and fought the tired spells.
Every night I lose a life but I feel most alive in these little deaths.
I saw the year in stood here, though I never noticed any of the passing hours.
Despondency is not new to me. Hazy eyes, early hours become sanctuary.
The closing year became clear. I clean my hands of its struggle, heartbreak and misery.
You’re made of everything I’d always thought had given up on me.
I was worried they had me, I feared the waning moon had burnt out in spite.
Though I feel the frost beneath my feet, I feel the freeze begin to fleet.
In separate beds, in cutting weather, slowly you’re putting my pieces back together.
We are the 6am sermon, the silent oration. No one hears and no one knows that I once was so broken.