How long the night.
That which is carried is ignored.
Laid down as the head into the pillow, the ground, the coffin.
The shadows dance behind closed eyes.
The fools dance in the day.
Neither provide comfort.
And comfort is not mine to have.
I rest in the darkness.
And accept it as the coffin that calls to me.
They whisper such heresies, I tell you.
To imagine this lays more chain.
Ties more rope.
Now sheltered in coffin and dark.
Bound by rope and chain.
I hear the whisper clearly now.