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