To confess, I haven’t dreamt in years;

The pain that wells inside of me,

Is the ground for all my fears.

I’m only burning crosses,

To distract you as I can

From the closet full of skeletons

That have died at my own hand.

They’re dreams that choked and made their way

Behind these walls of sheet,

And loves I held so close to me,

Now masked behind concrete.

Now deeply reminded of all I have done

By once loving faces now shamefully hung

In rigged hands of stiff, blue block,

That, amiable in, have tortured, checked out.