The Hollow Hour

The clock strikes midnight in my fevered brain,

And still I see your shadow on the stair;

Each breath I draw is tangled up in pain.

I walk these rooms like one who has been slain,

My ghost condemns me, follows everywhere.

The clock strikes midnight in my fevered brain.

The wallpaper hums low your lost refrain,

Your laughter shivers through the empty air;

Each breath I draw is tangled up in pain.

I clutch at phantoms, but they won’t remain,

They slip through fingers, weightless as despair.

The clock strikes midnight in my fevered brain.

The candles gutter, casting shapes profane,

Your face in wax and flame a cold nightmare.

Each breath I draw is tangled up in pain.

I cannot wake, nor can I break the chain

This house, this heart, this darkness I must bear.

The clock strikes midnight in my fevered