A whisper keeps flooding through my tide, A cipher rewritten; Still I might harbor faith in embers you call flame. I truly beg you: seal your storms behind glass, For I will drag us deep. Surrender all you deemed you knew as night— I am caving. And I’m seldom stitched to borrowed things Blocking every whisper, yet I’m hypnotized, Sleepwalking through curses when the truth arrives. Clutching desperately, though ruin waits in bloom, It seeps into my veins — I’m fighting to filter you. The corridors I trace beneath my ribs Turn winter‑pale and light. Still I might harbor faith in every oath you breathe toward sleep; I am caving, and I won’t stay borrowed for one Far past this christened ruin: Only split fibers of a creed that used to stand as one. Too swift we watch the earth go bare And set our judgments breaking. Nothing births our shadows quite like this sin. When every ledger’s ink is dry, We burn the brittle trust we once declared hollow— Hurled into a vault of blame with haunting echoes. And for what? A shame tide; Always rolling, Rolling, Rolling. Leave.
