I cup your voice up to my ear,
your warming breath against my skin,
you hold my hand though you’re not here.

You tell me not to let my fears
stalk every step back to my kin,
to cup your voice up to my ear.

Our narrowed world is wheezed with tears,
as stove hat ghouls stick dolls with pins.
You hold my hand though you’re not here.

Cut emptied hearts lean in and jeer
at dancing headless mannequins.
I cup your voice up to my ear

and tell you how the night’s laid bare
as though the world is pulsed with sin,
you hold my hand though you’re not here.

I reach my goal—no longer care
that watchmen bar the hallowed inn.
I cup your voice up to my ear,
you hold my hand though you’re not here.