strong winds outside my house, like scraping against my scalp and you are there, the end of me. all you, my make-believe, glory in my melancholy — a dream in the dark — translucent and not, like an apparition and possessing with every stolen glance that meets; taking the life out of me and this, you shall never know. darling, my end will begin in the fury of your tenderness and you won't ever know.
