You grounded me in silent melody
like a rusted harp from yesteryear.

You gave me prideful ambition when
my other endeavors failed to bear fruit.

You made me feel alive when self-infliction
was only desecration to the living dead,

and showed me beauty in both anger
and sentiment when mixed; botched,
yet perfect in its own twisted way.

You still spilled from the ink of my
shadow even when the alcohol wasn't enough.

You still came to my mind when the
wraiths of my memories tormented
my waking hours.

You gave me clarity when the pills refused
to dissolve in my wreckage,

and when all else abandons me for the last time,
whatever you have to say in that moment
will feel like my first time.