Fake ode

A nightingale singing an ode

to your last leaves

An Autumn resembling the heat of our past spring.

A memory hidden in a dream,

a ghost locked up in my mind.

A deep sorrow from within,

A sweet smell in my mouth dwelves.

Like the mourning of a non-sleeping child,

like the roaming of a lonely man,

you come into my thoughts

and rape my inner conscience.

In every drop I feel it linger,

in every voice I hear you twitter.

From time to time I'm scared of sinking,

for my mind knows

Madness is at the reach of our hands.

Forget my song if I don't stop singing,

drown my voice if my mumbling haunts you.

Unlock the door

and give in.