November 7

the color of blue
is my tomb of a room
a reflective hue
of my depressive mood
connected to you
through extrasensory views
the sensation is new
my frustration the truth
that I'm hiding from
the one I love
I must succumb
to this bloodlust
I can't speak
I can barely breathe
to be freed of this disease
I'll need to leach
I'll need to reap
my sweet Jillibean
so she can be like me
for all eternity
blessed with a gene
of eternal life
but only by night
lest we're petrified
by the sunlight