Evening beckons,
this faceless
slab of a dream
claws my back,
a two-pronged maze
to unrectify
my righteous ways,
and not even then
can I jolt
these two parts apart,
your virtuous vice
except by force,
and so I have tried
to hack you up,
I even scattered
your fires,
then picked them up
just like old Isis
did for Osiris,
earning me nothing
but vanishing moments
of brief clarity,
when I can see
that you are
not me,
but only a glimmer
faint as the faintest
of shimmers,
glowing in darkness,
a token of gold,
only in darkness
my soul.