12

Giving rise
unto our conscious eyes,
blow from me
your fretful sighs.

They see only my disguise.

I'm digging my early grave,
waving goodbye to restless days.

They see only Hecate's haze.

Crawling to rest in peaceful sleep,
I cannot handle reality's face.
I need you to peek further in.
I'm sure with a touch of your lips,
perhaps I could get up and go on.

Get up
and
Go on