Striking the light
With a force to bail the seas;
A mentality built to burn,
with the season’s cyclic turn.

A hammer on ice,
Frigid metal burning snow.
Snapping of tension,
The southern winds blow.

The little widow’s weeping
Stopped my heart from beating.

The hourglass branded up on its spine,
Signaling the end of my time.

A teardrop stains my arm,
But that’s just the venom in my souls.

Summoned stars
Shining in a frigid world.
They’re so cold
So lay your hands on me;
I’ll feel alive.

If there’s an edge above the waves,
I’ll fall fast and hard.

In my twisted world of love,
There’s no room for elegant dives.

My needle-spun lies
Tie the rope around my foot.
Caught in a snare,
The huntsman’s judgement
Is the only way out.

The huntsman’s rife,
In which I seek repentance

As the beach pulls at the grains of sand,
Your forgiveness tugs at the corners
Of my reddened eyes.

Needles working into my throat,
As alarm bells ring through my ears.

A softly falling drop of liquid air
Dispersed into the vacuum of space.

If no place exists for me to breathe,
Then I’ll choke on the music.
I’ll end the show before the final dance,
And let the curtains close,
Bringing closure to my contract with life.