Behold my savior, for he comes on a plate (in a capsule)
 Wouldst thou grant my soul peace before I should cross thee, lest I take flight from this bridge, and plummet through my most ecstatic anticipation
 
 What is and what is not
 
 There is only an hourglass and a scythe, a picturesque solace made for dying and burials
 I no longer dream of us
 For I am swept away in this solitary sea of breathless harmony
 The fixation flickers and is snuffed out
 It is just myself and these apparitions
 Lingering around as if to communicate something to me
 But I am deaf