Shivering House

Give to me, your skin, so I may enter the shivering house, where I could be one with my own nothingness.Being the other of my self, I flee from everything.Your skin is clean, far from pure, but it's beauty is a pure reflection of the night sky.

I see your name in the ligthning which strikes youth.It flickers with a prophetic red that terrifies the waves.Name of smoke, penetrating obsidian sky.In your apex of life, have you not expreienced already, your seventh death? Always you wear a different mask.Now every mask is returned to the skies, above and below.

I do not wish to represent your eyes, in the shivering house.I only wish to prove my suffering, though my suffering is yours.How would I, know suffering if I live beyond life constantly conversing with my essences? Yet still I wish to escape.I have seen and heard too much.In the shivering house no senses could pierce the silence.

I will not go there, in the name of conquest.I will dance with the swimming sun, and together we will be watched with bowed eyes, that can never look directly at us, for they are weak, so they are forced to merely remember our name.Such will be my non-existence in the shivering house.

Trembling hands, like a moth on fire; your vision is a calvary, innocence transformed into sanctity.Not by the ages but by my desires.Desires written upon the sign of the day when I whispered her name.

Shivering house: inscribed in my hour, inscribed in the flesh that you wear.

Silence will prevail.