Idle spectrums swallow my breach.
(Never soften your edges at my behest)
Everything is as I remember
Only my memories have soured.
(I am alone, I am alone, I am alone)
Drunk on echoes, we are obsolete.
A fog of rage pierces my heart
And all the recipients therein.
(I found you under a ceiling of indigenous stars.)
An audience of chairs obstructs scoffing ghosts.
(Is death ever truly sense-less?)
Every prick, twitch and confabulation
Has been revisited but the course remains unknown.
(We are freestanding doors that open on the alternate.)
We are freestanding doors that close on the indefinite.