Bound.

Like an eerie presence,
the child within me,
cried to sleep,
disheveled, with naked longing
for pacifism,
and everything sweet.
In depths of longing,
and prolonged agitation,
like a burning house,
upon an isolated hill,
like the misfit wailing out,
his dreams of fitting in.
Like the cluttering crevices,
abound with bottomless pain.
Inhaling a life of ashes,
this sleep does not amount to peace,
when thou hath said,
that distance is a sweeter gain,
the heart took its leap,
and sunk to affliction.
It took to the pen, thus,
"Distant dreams,
spewing grief,
of lovelorn tales
and violent mèlés."
And thus, the pain began to gather dust,
as another heart withered away.