Drink in this private pardon-
a pause, just before the dawn
a stage for darkness to reach its break.

Twirling, clutching skin-
a silent command for eyes to be resting open,
shared, steady, and still-
breath briefly unredeemed.

Each of your lives has been mourned,
And mourned nine times over-- still,
- there is no reason there.
No residual facet of fact on which this fiction can rely.
Tell me, my wormwood angel, did you choose to die?

She tastes hues and hears their vibrancy.
Watch her tending flowers,
utterly entranced by their whispers.
She sleeps in black and white,
unable to accept a world in color.

I'm sorry I couldn't save you
I swear to you I tried.
I had no clue you were so broken
I wish you hadn't lied.
I knew one day you'd leave me
For the depression you couldn't hide.
You told me you had a solution
I just never thought it suicide.

-ARI

Dying love in a gilded cage,
Imprisoned by my pent up rage.
You never loved me, but neither did I,
The last gift you gave was the gift of goodbye.