Cracked in several different pieces lies
a mask bound by the school of flesh
A clever tool used to blur the lines
Between a saint and filthy wretch

Archaic would be the best word to describe
The spring snow I ought to see
And yet there's still something beautiful about suicide
I think Mishima would agree

But these metaphors are every bit as absurd
As the films you made me watch
Silent whispers never heard
And yet again I ruin the plot

In the mood for love
Yes, that's all you've ever been
Like the sudden slap of a glove
A life once hidden now is seen

Somewhere there is a man I used to know
Better yet revere
Blood stains red springs gentle snow
Giving way to flowery years

There is death before dishonour
If not of the body then of the mind
As summer winds blow warmer
So do memories fade in time

My body slowly trembles
As sweat begins to fall
I thought myself a giant
At merely two feet tall

I thought it almost certain
an oak tree I would be
Instead I lay here broken
A useless sprouting seed

An anchor never lifted
A sail never drawn
I stood still unassisted
By the earth's feeble yawn

Like a crown without its person
A lock without a key
I dreamt my humble visions
Of all the things id of seen

A constant disappointment
I stumble endlessly
Without the slightest sign of movement
An empty broken seed

Through all the one word conversations
Lost between the countless vines
They say a smile is a friend
But it's no friend of mine
I question if love and life
Can really coexist
I look it in the face
And I blow it a kiss

I try to answer the all the riddles
I go back and forth between
That sweet taste in my mouth
The only indication of where I've been
I haven't slept a minute
I can never rest my head
The hours pass by slower
So I bite my lips instead

The questions never stop
The riddles always persist
Was the answer a landmark
Or something I've already missed?

Here lies the grave
Of a friend I've never missed
Who I've loved in life
But have long since dismissed
And there one of a man
Who I can say I've truly loved
But who never knew how I felt
Like a foreign film badly dubbed

I beat my head against the glass
After every passing thought
I swore I'd never think it again
And look at what it brought
Thinking I was being courageous
I was only being crass
I am something so worthless
As old tattered brass

The questions never stop
The riddles always persist
Was the answer a landmark
Or something I've already missed?

Eyes of different colours meet
A heart that beats in sync with no conceit
Laboured breath, a sword and sheath
A place to rest my tired feet.

A message poorly written, tapped
Pupils once closed dilate
Minds so alive no longer sedate
Shortcuts taken, never on time but never late

Grapes on a vine crushed to make wine
So does the labouring sun shine
A breath of yours, A breath of mine
A subtle crescendo and a steep decline.

A tarnished sword and withered sheath
Nevertheless a place to rest my tired feet.