Vacancy
You the creator, whispering to the mind
When they look in to your soul
Do they stare at the black of your pupils
Or the shadows in your memory
The places where you lay to rest the demons of the past
In your spirit
Is it kindness or merely
A kind of listless vacancy that glows red against the pitch horizon
Rows of rooms unentered
Each needing a new key
Reception turned their back and now
Sticky are your fingers as you walk along the halls
Picking things from the floor, capturing them in the cups of your hands
Little lightning bugs in a glass jar
Guide the way oh captive, my captive
An untimely suffocation for the journey ahead
Soon the light will slip
And soon you will falter
Do not go gentle
Into that
Good night
\\'
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