Ashes to ashes,
dust to dust
All these bones that carried
Once gold now only rust.

Why pick up
a dented thing
when it is no more use
for you?

Why pick up
a broken being
when it sees no safe place
or the difference between false and true?

Throw it away,
it's nothing good.
Go on your way,
as you should.

There are thorns here more than roses,
neither a bud or bloom to be seen.
You, traveler, should best be on your guard
Go back to the road where first you have been.

Blood boils not
to a heart that no longer beats;
that no longer sputters life
that was never in the place for keeps.

Keep away, good man;
your sweat is aimed for greater things,
your time for the one who beautifully sings;
your heart for the better and light winged.

Cuts and edges are all I have,
dark eyes and silent lips to give you no grace.
It is a colorful heart you seek - yet mine is shattered,
burnt and black;
I believe I am the wrong one to replace.

To feel you softly,
wholesomely,
that seems to be a dream
made not for my tattered self.

I am too afraid
of breaking you
or being too selfish of the thought
of having you
or taking for granted your life
when I say I do love you -

When you could have been:
better off,
or good without,
maybe even better -
someone else's.