(I)
Night takes me
like a fever,
like a vow whispered
in a ruined cathedral.
I close my eyes
and fall through myself—
down where your shape waits,
unlit and holy,
a silhouette carved
from the absence of light.
I shouldn’t want this.
But wanting you
is all I have left.
(II)
You’re never clear—
a blur of breath,
a pulse beneath shadow,
the echo of hands
I’ve never truly felt.
Yet I reach for you
as if my soul remembers
what my body never touched.
Obsession is too small a word
for what I’ve become.
(III — Chorus)
Sleep takes me,
and I let it.
Let it swallow me whole
just to taste the place
where you drift.
This is the realm
I’m forbidden to enter—
but I kneel to the dark,
night after night,
hoping the dream
devours the waking.
You are the sin I choose.
You are the void I worship.
(IV)
Sometimes your face forms—
soft, impossible,
like a portrait painted
on smoke and bone.
Sometimes you vanish
just as I reach,
and I break a little
in the falling.
I don’t know if you are real
or if my longing invented you
to survive the hours
the sun demands of me.
(V)
Days taste bitter.
Voices ring hollow.
Life feels like a punishment
for waking up without you.
I walk through hours
with the weight of your absence
pressing against my ribs,
a bruise no one else can see.
I breathe,
but only in dreams
do I live.
(VI — Chorus 2)
So I surrender—
again, again,
descending with a hunger
that feels almost sacred.
Sleep pulls me under
and I go willingly,
aching, trembling,
desperate for the moment
you bloom out of darkness.
If this is madness,
it is mine.
If this is ruin,
then ruin is holy.
(VII — Final)
And when I find you—
blurred, broken, beautiful,
a truth stitched together
from longing and shadow—
I cling to you
as if eternity splits open
behind your eyes.
If morning tries to claim me,
I’ll slip deeper.
I’ll drown quieter.
I’ll stay where you exist
and I finally don’t.
In the hollow between sleep and sin,
you are the only thing
that feels like home.
BLACKLARK
