Raising the walls
around you, you started
a ritual of placing a single
rose on the tomb daily.

Trapped in the blues,
there was a killer instinct
to destroy the self.

I become a flame,
passing through the flesh
eroding the body's mystique.

The ravage words
now sleep. A dying
moon will set the
night free.

It was an invasion by
deathless roots at night.
A slow music starts by puppeteers
to undo the potter's field.