The curtains drawn

The lights were dimmed

I could hear the ivy breathing

my shelter garden untrimmed

 

I thoght of my pillow refuge

As legs were weary

and my terror-stricken mind

Alone and leery

 

He was before me

My disguise of sleep unfooling

I could feel his cutting eyes

in their arrogant ruling

 

I knew he pitied me

and that was his power

As I practised being weak

below his indestructible glower

 

He felt my death

but does not understand it

His unique style of murder

Suffocation, bit by bit

 

There was never love

except a passion for being

A holding, perfecting idol

yet unaware of his unseeing

 

I will find a home

with softness and forgiveness

In this half-sleep dream

a miracle of impulsiveness

 

Saving my name

Honour, or whatever it may be

letting go of imprisonment

Undead and free