It’s
Not a token drawn around the neck, but
A
Jewel upon the finger that will forever dream
Sad
Memorys branded into the very tissues; a
Thing
Made to torment the mind until the day comes
When
Our earthly mother calls us.
The
Fruits of our nature dry a bond that's
Only
Broken by the lord himself. My cries, the
Sounds
of Hades in the pounding of my death
Are
scarabs that peel the skin away in
Footsteps
Treading across my soul, leaving scars
Of
Which I may never again love.
The
Thorns grow in craters of damages
One
Has, with no way back; leave
You
Without the means to help and cannot
Love
without something in return.
Walking
out will not chase me
away