the skin is falling off of my bones
i need to go home, i need to go home.
my clothes are rotting off of me thread by thread
and the sounds around me have all left my head.

silence is kindness to these tired ears
stillness is goodness to such tired hands
light is and angel of terrible strength
to these eyes closed tightly against its grace.
and it's a lightbulb- so on and off again

my hair comes out into my hands,
like ribbons, like sand
i let it fall to my feet
next to my heart and the sleeve (i wore it on).

im thinning like a ghost after it's memory has faded
like a painting, like a picture of past centuries that gave it
something real, something to be,
but something never to be seen (again)...

the morning's fading from the dream.
that's everything.