Strange dreams catch in our tangle,

As an evergrowing spider’s web.
It stretches from the ever so slightly ajar doorframe of my skull,
To our interlocking fingertips,
Like so much silk and unspoken declarations.
Each vow and affirmation tempered by the knowledge of my wretched and twisted self,
Equal parts mutt, witch and disaster;
But burdened as I am, with faith and hunger,
I will build as many new selves as it takes to reach that place.
 
Once, a king of three rosaries,
A heart of three swords,
A patchwork devil with one horn,
I was able to reach this place,
Where ink and bells stand fireproof, and stained glass flora grows beneath our feet like rusty nails.
From today, to the vows, to the coffin,
A legion of stronger better selves will dream into being.