Every morning I dig your grave and make an obituary with past tense in my speech. Every night I dig you out and whisper warmth in the present cold wind.
Every day I light some wood and turn some scribbled notes to ash, every night I write something good to burn such scribbled hopes to ash.
Every day I brave the chill with a laughter cutting through its fog and feign,Every night I spill some tears that make the morning mist again.
Every day I let go of the remnants of a corpse of once a life, and every night the ghost of it haunts and holds on for dear life.
Every day I jostle past the debris of the structure once, Every night I build the wall and leave a stone still un-turned.
Every night and every day , I could put either one to end, To let it perish or to cherish to break and then to never mend.
but what is it the night or the day , I could live it or take it to bed.
Though not life, this is not death in choice and thus compulsively so Undead.
Every day I light some wood and turn some scribbled notes to ash, every night I write something good to burn such scribbled hopes to ash.
Every day I brave the chill with a laughter cutting through its fog and feign,Every night I spill some tears that make the morning mist again.
Every day I let go of the remnants of a corpse of once a life, and every night the ghost of it haunts and holds on for dear life.
Every day I jostle past the debris of the structure once, Every night I build the wall and leave a stone still un-turned.
Every night and every day , I could put either one to end, To let it perish or to cherish to break and then to never mend.
but what is it the night or the day , I could live it or take it to bed.
Though not life, this is not death in choice and thus compulsively so Undead.
