Love dragged me back to the coals.
With a mask of charcoal and blood.
I remember now how the blackbird
sings the song about the dead.

I wish you could hear the words
they'll sing upon my empty grave.
I wish you knew the hollow chorus
to bring my brain back to the pains.

So now I whisper a scream
and ask for just your time.
A moment perhaps, a second.
for in the end it's yours and mine.

I can taste the purity of the blue.
Soaking through my spirit.
Offering tranquility to my mind.
These old bones are weary no longer.

I want the mud to cushion my fall
and the moonbeams to whisper
inside of my bones and scream out
"MY BOY MY BOY COME HERE AND BEGONE
NOTHING IS MERRY
NOTHING IS WON"

and I will cry tears of bloodstains and crystal
and you will look down from your perch and
shriek
"MY CHILD MY CHILD THE END IS NEAR
LOOK UP AT THE HEAVENS
WHICH YOU HOLD SO DEAR
WHISPER HER NAME AND SPIT OUT YOUR
FEAR"

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.