I am the fugitive
With mashed words
Heaped upon his tongue

Slithering along
Through his treacherous labyrinth
Ashing away
His limited and precious time

Into the breeze
The days cave and wither
Courted by the ghouls
Of many more prior

I bundle in silence
Nursed by my own delusions
Of quivering waves
Brimming with color
Destined to grey
In bouts of melancholy

I cannot muster an excuse
Forge a great promise
To carry on with pride

Masked in creation
My strength is replenished
To etch undisturbed
Honestly, mute and free