It would seem you’ve forgotten your way to reality,

And I long ago lost the key to that swiftly rusting door.

And perhaps the snow is nothing more than fallen angels

Lamenting your lies. You wear originality around your neck

As your false lips spill words like poisoned honey.

Perhaps you did get lost within the oceanic spirals of seashell’s secret lair,

But that word within the pale sky of your eyes can just as easily be rearranged like

Magnetic poetry to say ‘liar.’

And with the closing of the door, I leave you weeping on the pale honey floor,

Because the sunrise will not wait for me, and the shadows no longer speak to me.