Dead eyes open, or, how the woman in the attic fled, never to return de Cinema Strange

My eyes are arid and cold on a portrait's insides. i am time-hardened wax and i can see wide fungus and frost have fondled my frontside and i- did he wonder and wander in small ages? did he forget that i died? he's older and ugly and a beautiful baby, he's retinal mist. far away, far away, leaning and turning, i moan and i list
Not flying, not walking, porous, like curtains, i hang on the dampness of spring i've known my own scrapings for so many years, i know that something is coming not demon, not quickly, gradual breaking my knees will go out from under me i've borne my own weight for so many years, i know the ground is dissolving not under, not behind, not slow and i'm far-away attic frost, free and untangled
Didn't he wonder? i shall surprise him did he forget? i shall remind him please hold my hand, beautiful, ugly man i've come untangled, but we shall find frost again dizzy and turning, you never need walk i shall carry you, hold you, early and blinded my son is no burden, i'm ancient with sorrow strength