I am the night in which I sleep,
You are the beast that does not eat.
We are the flow within the creak.
I am the rug that which I beat.
You are the heart that does not weep,
We are the show, yet make no peep.
I am the song sung in the deep,
You are the doe who knows not heat.
We are the end, but are not bleak.
I am the man who locked his keep.
You are the morgue’s white hot sheet,
We are the cripples, yet speak nor meet.
//Disclaimer: this is purely practice with form, all characters are fictional//