(A Sequel to The Corpses Have Hearts to Speak)

Let me start my tell-tale long,
Or should I say my paintings old
Of question marks scribbled
With some words mingling in my specter—

The unseen are the most visible things;
they exist for what we believe
what we fear,
and reasons we never die to seek;
they drench, torment
and foreshadow time
as we slowly unveil
the skin we dangle in;

Let us see inside our own first—
Using a fatal mirror we loaned
Do you know who you are?
Do you do what you do?
Do you love what you are
and what you love?

What is it, that you love?

Aye, after the long journey
Of fragranced fragments I knitted myself
I will recite what I have known of myself;

I am the irony of the fragile lies
I am the thought of every sordid heart
I am none yet I am whole;
don’t call me demon,
for I am not angel

But back to the realmity
Call it, darling, my story perhaps
Realm of reality—
Within the shades of the eternal fifth day;

In a room full of world
I find a young soul crouching,

Loved yet unloved—
Beautiful yet ruined and ******—
Wrenching my unbeating
Blackdusted heart

So I say to my ethereal self;

I am no more—
Yet how can I feel
That she is full of life
Yet dead beneath?

Make it clear,
I desire life for twice
She is hellbound to death
She would torment life
For the smile of old grey death

Oh,
and I would abandon my last daydream dear
For ungrateful loves long ago;

Is life, so underrated?
Is life, not so precious?
Is life, stop—
Do life, just stay still without a change?
Is life, a constant darling named Constance?

Oh,
such joy it is to live
and laugh?

Oh,
such joy it is,
To see what my ethereal self
Can never grasp
Ever again

Of love,
separated between world
Self—Regret
And constance