Too much of my time has been bled 
In search of shelter, 
My nomadic pulse 
Drums softer and softer

Too much of the world
Falls out of my sight, 
Below a cluster of stars  
My coveted mirage

Too many doors are sealed 
To keep an illness at bay, 
How it teems in my voice, 
Within the fables I breathe 

Too full with rich words 
Days rot on the vine,
Oversweet and unrealized 
Torn away from my mind