On a gray Friday

I feel surrounded,
By a weeping frame;

I no longer lust,
Any dripping blast;

The night is coming up,
And her kisses drag me,
Upon crawling dreams,
I no longer wanna live,

But,
Being on balance is,
The key of Evolution,

In which,
Written by the sweat of my soul,
My senses will be reborn,
In the rise of a purple storm.