Bewitched Basements

Let me be the first to have the audacity to translate, This piece of mystery molded in a magical meadow of mistakes, The reckless subject, there, just standing still like a landscape of order, Disfiguring a flow of ridged ribbons in shapes of unheard names, Carelessly manipulating my optical constructors to articulate promises from paper wings, Bewitched by the light warm slash of sun laid upon the raging tides within trembling silence, How far charms can go to seduce their way into a destructive satisfaction, Might it'd been too kind to dry brush around the edges of your shadows, When the basement of your intentions homed disturbing dreams, Hunting for the tremors from freezing nightmares that pray to bury my ocean and all it's devotion, Where do the ones who seek the sins of lost words hide? While half of the living cling onto the drifting light, This shrewd figure that clasps on the thousand synonyms of shallow tears, Whisking a bath of blades for my pane of glass that hold scads of scars, The pace of time, travels differently when I try to captivate you through my sketches, I am told by the tones of my pencil, that your armor shields a menacing maniac, Too cowardly to battle for your own persistence, So hold on to what's left of your timid thoughts, Sadly strength has long evaded you.