Mortal Nights For Us Poem by Lavigne Kin

When darkness funds the silence,
And boils in the back of an eyelid,
When night bleeds an honest ghost across,
The same channels gaudy skies did.
When outside leaves rehearse in dumb,
An operatic warning,
Miming man and mountain struggles,
That are tussle-wept till morning.
When plain-dressed death sits in the room,
And breathes with simple frost, Tracing your spine with a lone dusty nail,
The taxman pencils his cost.
When the cosmic maths of a shell-lip,
Stretches out from pane to pane,
Not so much feared as grudgingly known,
By a gold-toothed gambler's name.
When darkness funds the silence,
And boils in the back of an eyelid,
Get out the Book or the Bottle,
Curl up and hide in the same places I did.