I sit and I say your name.
I hear your voice explain
the intricacies and beauty
of an art lost and found.

I look in your eyes and I know
It isn't a matter of if
but when
you will be mine.

I'm going to marry you.
I'm going to give you my name.
I'm going to grow old and grey.
I'm going to hold your hand every single day.

My joy, my sorrow, my laugh, my muse.
They say that all good things come in twos.

Oh how I wish you'd know what these words mean.
Nestled in stone, laced with lilacs, but yet
they wear down in time a buzz nondescript.

The gaze haunts my dreams a face smug and cold.
Terror and cold sweats marked by morning light.
I hate him but still, he won't disappear,
and neither will I, and so I abide.

A translucent blue, calmly ebbs my fear.
Released in waves from the mere existence.
Snuffing out the shadows, putting out the flame.
A single, amplified coo destroys the demons
picking at my mind, screaming out my name.
A journey of a million moments starting at one.
As long as your name remains etched in my veins.

A pinprick prods at the weary old soul,
flickering above and beyond its grasp.
Laughing and cursing, it digs up the pain.
Ripping and tearing, 'til we lose control.

Silence, then whispers, weary photographs.
All imprinted, all pressed against the glass.
Begging me to reach forward, take a look.
And in my grasp, the pain begins again.

Walk past with your roses painted purple.
Go on down with your drum and a prayer.
Who cares what they'll probably say or do.
One hundred thousand moments of pain,
and this one darling, this one chose you.

Fire and whispers pour down your spine
as you taste the salt upon your fist.
Mops and boiled milk and crows take you back
Oh my lord what are you going to do?
I suppose you'll know, so go, take your cue.

Bring me out back with a gun in your hand.
Dreary Jack stapled down to the pavement.
Cocked and loaded, smoke pouring out the frame
his head rolls gently, resting in the sand
in an instant that life came and it went,
you reloaded, looked at me, and took aim.

What is life if not a lie?
A beautiful fairy tale?
A sunrise on Winter's day?

I look in the mirror
and a devil looks back,
a stone-faced testament to the dead.

As flame licks the boots
and the noose pulls taut
I end this poem with one final thought

What is life if not a lie?
It is loving, laughing, and waiting to die.