Little Victories - The Horrors

I press your hand in mine however cautiously, I keep a smile right to myself

And I lapse into the grasp of an overriding obsession

And I get sick as I watch my interests fall into suspension

This Winter

So cold, Creeping down your arm

Stealth soldiers, Creeping around your palm

It’s hard, hard to understand

Little victories won creeping around your hand

The sickness has taken hold through violent, blurted syllables

Escape my mouth under my breath

The voice of pricking dread is whispering insistent in my ear

My paranoia galvanised by your gaze, so austere

This Winter…

I pinned your crest to my chest, hoping it might start to look right

There was hushed talk of young boy’s corpse lying face down in some river

His hands used to move like mine

I can’t stand myself this morning, i am practically that boy

No strength to endure, Ghostly insecure, Pallid through lack of choice

This winter…