When her sweet opiate frost draws long
Over the blanched and paralyzed walls-
Fading out the delicate decay of insidious dawn…
“There’s no compromise
In the arms of the longest night…”
She whispers to the seeping light rusting
Away the tiny spaces
Where her pale eyes, fully
Drunk on lullabies, meditate on that
Long dead magic
“It’s not a miracle to survive…
It’s just a habit”.