A falling star fell from your heart and landed in my eyes
I screamed aloud, as it tore through them, and now it's left me blind

The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart

And in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat
I tried to find the sound
But then it stopped, and I was in the darkness,
So darkness I became

The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart

I took the stars from my eyes, and then I made a map
And knew that somehow I could find my way back
Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too
So I stayed in the darkness with you

The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart

The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out
You left me in the dark
No dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight
In the shadow of your heart

We don’t speak any more.
Nails fly out of your mouth to crucify
while I oscillate between hanging in pained silence
and screaming thoughtlessly back at you.
But far worse than your nails drawing blood
is the piling of the silent stones, day by day,
into a monument I cannot climb,
inscripted with the character of your life I can no longer read.
Could I ever?
You bludgeon me with “you will never understand.”
I never believed you until now.

I cannot see your knights
and know not what dragons they have slain for you.
I was once your champion.
Your laughter is shrouded when I am near,
although I hear it report from a distance,
its absence piercing shooting pain.
I cannot know your particular darkness
for the shadows are yours and yours alone.
But I knew something of your lands once
and sacrificed more than a little blood on your soil.

You fence me in lines I never drew.
But perhaps if you just start again
by telling me a secret,
the garden we once planted together
will not lie so barren and unkept.
I tend it still.
Tell me a secret
that I might once more whisper to your heart.

If I can see the end clearly --
the sum of your disappointments finally adds up to the courage to set yourself free --
should I nonetheless walk on,
celebrating each closer to the last moment,
drinking the cup to the very dregs,
mindfully aware this bottle shall be the last?

Would it be more manful or mindful to loose you now?  
If that is our inexorable destination?

Can I host that party, clownlike, weeping on the inside?  
When I know that my voice grates on your ears?
When you perceive only aggression, judgment and negativity in my words?
When you believe I don't even try to understand?

Can I be fully present in those final moments
climbing the gallows of our love,
mindful of the coming loss,
clinging to the vestige of Pandora's final gift:
What if we changed the road we're on?