Walls of bone, ceilings made of breath, A cathedral built from dreams left dead. Rivers run with thoughts I can’t outrun, Mirrors hum the names I’ve undone. Silence blooms where reason used to grow, Thorns of memory pierce what I outgrew. In this hollow, I am god and grave— Both the storm and the wave it gave. Both the storm and the wave it gave. Both the storm and the wave it gave.
