Here, in the silence, I acclimate to the cold. The lead fist within my ribs Is scrawled with my own Schindler's list.

The names to leave, the names To remain. Here, in the darkness, I guarantee a future Of the same degree.

This nothingness intermingled With emptiness; splashed with Traces of Joan's visions.

A word telling me to fight And save the countless masses From themselves Or from me.

Here, in the disease, I fester and come to mold, So worms of deceit crawl Through the sockets of my eyes.

And the sky I once worshiped Closes in to damn my brow. And I dangle like Judas, Lost for threes and lost for silver, Betraying myself with a kiss, Even as I betrayed another.

Here, in the quiet, I lower myself to the ground And lie in patient silence For the coming of delusion.

So lack of wake will worry not, And I will slowly undo my bonds. Then, like Houdini, I slip from this reality, to a stage Of my own making. Before the curtain lifts, and I am vulnerable once again.