Epidemic steals the night,
Transforming quiet-eye beauty,
Into the snapshot of a grave.
For sleep is suicide,
To child and senile alike,
But most especially in both.
The Great Fire scares away our fears,
Of the death of certainty,
Or the certainty of death
But mother Moon’s embrace is no longer enough,
And we have fallen through fingertips,
Into the pit dug by our day-lit shadows,
With plenty of time to escape (from),
No light shines on the exist signs.
Our generators, powering the will (power) are fueled by the sun’s hatred,
No room for batteries here.
Surrender comes as inevitability,
Laced with dreamy arsenic,
Smooth coming down like a cloud,
To replace the place of hope,
Corpses curl up with past-life lovers,
Cold bodies finally find stillness with pride,
As the end of all goals.
So stay awake, child of Nix,
Don’t ever fall into the pitfall,
Craftily covered by the natural serpent,
And fear not the iguana’s bite,
For sleepers do not dream,
And nor can a dreamer find sleep.