Tristan Robert Lange

Nightshade

In inky skies I like to wade

Upon drinking in the night’s shade

While all of my pain—past memories—fade,

And all drama, herein, I have forbade

As I dig out my dirt bed with a spade.

Some may think that is really not well played,

But I’d rather lie with worms than with jade.

For, despite what we call life, death has stayed

Omnipresent no matter where we’ve laid,

No matter what in hell we all have prayed.

Gushing through the sky’s downhill grade

I want my identity—frayed—

To fragment together, not flayed,

But pixels forming a lush glade

Where I can never be betrayed.

© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.