I am sorry I am jealous of the dying sun.
Its just that... everyday the clouds and I bare witness,
as the sky swells with the wet red artwork of her blood,
and I admit... I wish to be as she is.
To come back every morning,
no matter how many times she kills herself
on the blade of the horizon,
ready to bleed more so that we may glory in her light.
But for me..... its different.
Each time my crimson artwork swells to life,
a little piece of me withers away and dies.
so, unlike her,
I do not come back whole
with the rise of the sun....
unlike her, my battle remains unwon.