In Portugal, the sweet air fills the night and fills my head with quiet, rosy dreams. My mind should be at ease (the bugs don’t bite) but loneliness keeps creeping back, it seems Through mossy doors, you see where I once stood so proudly with a crown upon my head. He locked those doors— I never thought it would be me who’d have to live among the dead. The concept’s simple, yet I struggle with each shadow lurking in the corner, hushed like my lost words, ripped from me with faux-kiss, My hands, my lungs, my spirits all just crushed. Back home once more, but only to a house, I meet the same slow fate I’ve come to dread. To make it stop, I must open my mouth, but it’s attached no longer to my head.
Insomnia (DGC)









