Are You Lonely, Too? Poem by Ghost Legend

These skies are hidden from me.
Among the protuberance of night,
I see only white, a ceiling,
With walls gathering at its sides.

Enclosures compose our
Death, reproduction woes, where
The opposite solely knows; here
Rules are never told.

Thus is my luck that
A deal was struck, now, then,
Before I could come to count, lest
I'd stare at skin.

A being, forever left to think
Of byes to the past
And possibilities it had,
Which, by now, have been
Forgotten.