Behold the roses in the iron.
See them swim to consciousness.
The old awareness of something unseen, present, watching.
It is in the walls, right now.
All the other voices have died away.
But I'm not dead. I'm not mute.
Let the words chill your heart.
The thing has taken me prisoner.
I want to open my eyes.
I want to see the stars again.
But the fire has died away, as well.
It would only hurt us in the long run.