2. Serene Sirens

There are sirens in my head
That whisk me to my death.
The ceiling is closing in,
The world dissociates itself.

My heart is hollow,
Missing sentiment.
I took the chance to remove it,
Surgically unscrew it,
When I caught a glimpse of death.

Paranoia becomes a fever in a few
As I look towards the window, but I don’t see you.
I clutch on my soul, rip out what is old,
And memorize your smile in lieu.

There is no clarity,
No glimpse of the future.
What is said in this life
Is merely passing, not lasting.
We hold onto what is unsaid
Because we fear communication with the dead.
Young child, there are sirens in my head.
Not even sorrows
Can resurrect you.

Graham Watts