I don't believe in it's over
I'm not here for that.
I came to be cut up before you
and you're gonna watch
while I bleed out.
I'm not here for joking
you can miss me with all that
I'm here to labor till my knuckles
grow fat and my skin wane.
Watch, love, as I work these
******* bones to dust
and choke on exhaust
and douse my dreams in
stale gasoline
and sit here laughing about
nothing just you, me
and my lit match.
I didn't show up for easy.
I don't believe in that.
You want me to run because
it's hard now? It's been hard
the whole time, my love.
I've bled and cried and
wished I'd ******* died.
I'd do it all three more lifetimes
if it would make you believe
like I do.
I'm not here 'cause you're perfect.
How could you think that?
I'm not gonna leave
just because it's gotten harder.
I was born to die on this hill.
I'll be here when the forests
are gone. When the stars go cold.
I'll be here when here is over
and mankind long forgotten.
Give me your worst, love.
It's why I'm here.

Find him sun faded and aching
the prersistent sound of scrapping
from the shovel dragging pavement
six inches behind him as the day went.
He don't know how to make ends meet
he's pushin' his chuck taylors up the street
hoping for answers in tired shakin' hands
knocked knees and our endless demands.
Thirsty, for him, has become a profession
and broke a bitter given confession.
He'll fix what needs fixin', mend what's broke
and he'll smile and nod at every cruel joke.
He'll repair your service to keep his kids fed
work hours beyond when it's time for bed.
Overtime and weekends. Eighty hour weeks
his kids'll wonder where daddy sleeps.
We'll hate him for never being around
Say he was silence when they wanted sound.
We never wonder how he felt, if he's aware
not that it matters. No one will ever care.

They never forgot the
distant sound of bells
or those specific autuminal
decay and cinnamon smells
or the long procession of cars
coming over the asphalt swells.
If it was cards the swollen eyes
and thin lips would be obvious tells.

Still, they recall the lingering
odor of well dressed bodies at mass.
The kids in ties and shiny shoes
who looked nothing like in class.
The ornate handles the men
grabbed at each side made of brass.
The long walk to the open pit
and the strangly bright artificial grass.

The man in black spoke low and loud
the warnings and lamented lost joys.
The older women wept, the men
clenched jaws and shushed all noise.
The children thought of homeroom jokes
and shared comics and borrowed toys.
They all touched on some unspeakable
truth not yet totally known by little boys.

When the day was over and the
workman's efforts finally done
the men gathered at an old bar
and toasted the setting sun.
They sat in tight circles and whispered
not about games or distances run
but about a brevity they couldn't fathom
and the unforgotten report of the gun.

The young men wondered where
they'd found the small coffin.
Had they built it special just
for the the day? To see him off in?
The old men spoke hard words
but their tired eyes would soften.
Box wasn't special, they wished for
different but built them often.

Sometimes I'm kinda absent, Bean.
like Spidey when he was still Venom.
I don't have dreams without you
they're nightmares when you're not in 'em.
I remember the panic inside me
when the waves knocked out my knees.
I remember lunging into surf
trying to save you from the seas.
I've reached into space and saw
the reassured look spread on your face
as you fell into my waiting catch
instead of alone into empty space.
I think back to when you weren't
and the silly person I used to be
you're like glasses, son
you allow me, finally, to see.

You saw me brought low
broken, bereft and grievin'.
You stopped on your way
to pick me up when I was bleedin'.
My god, I recall your taste! I felt you
in empty veins as a powerful needin'.
I kicked the dust and wallowed in the dark
but still you just kept on believein'.
I wish I'd been different. Wish I was better.
Despite your wishes, despite your pleadin'
I was never there for you
I couldn't stay. I'm the best at leavin'.

Late night on the subway platform
you whispered, "I'm in love with you."
and thought the train would cover the sound
and I let you continue to think it true
because I didn't have an answer
I didn't know how I felt about you.
Life changed for both of us
we were two kids without a clue
and we've grown in my absence
we've our triumph and our rue.
We've grown in ways alien to each other
in times of laughter and in blue.
Time isn't flying, old friend.
Time already flew.
And look, I may have a regret
maybe one or two
a half dozen, hundreds
let's say I've got a few
Listen, I've got the love of my life
and I heard and hope you also do.
I don't wish any harm
and I don't want anything from you.
I just thought you should know
when the train passed I loved you, too.

They lie spread across
bloodied battlefields
with the fallen and
The Nephilim of old.
Swords caught on bone,
sheilds that cover
against the heat of
liminal hellish landscapes
still within sight of the
large golden gates
behind which sit,
on impossible throwns
surrounded by hosts of
horrifying misshapen
monsters of eldritch
origin and madness born,
The Father and Son
and the third ethereal
component which completes
in some small but huge
and mysterious way.
Among the carnage stands
our hero, his sword turned
so the dullest part faces
toward the legion he
stares down, his shield
strapped to the bleeding
useless arm hanging
limp by his side.
His cape ***** behind
him in some breeze
which brings no relief,
it seems impossibly long
and so too does his shadow.
And look, o' sons and daughters
in the darkest part of
his shadow we are huddled
against the noise and the heat.
Between us and the bitter
finish our hero digs his
feet into the dark, dusty ground.
His countenance grave
but determined. His brow
a tight triangle, his lips
a small drawn line,
his eyes narrowed.
We desire his victory
but expect his defeat
and we know we will
both be safe and also
tell his story, regardless
of the outcome, because
of the time he's providing.
But that should he lose
should he fall in his attempt
we will love him
for all of time.
Stand tall, sons and daughters
but know always that
the hero, our hero,
he shakes, ever so slightly.
His eyes are set
and grim but they are
glossy with tears he'll
never be allowed to shed.
He stands amid death
and consigns himself
for us but he still
must die alone
and afraid.
But then, o' sons and daughters
so do we all.