A steady ebb and flow providing unrelenting release.
A single moment snarled by callous disbelief.
A lock of curled honey hair scattered in the ash.
A taste of a once dripping wound dried in sand.

These are the lines for which you fall.

No, these are the bricks within the wall.

This is a descent into paltry madness.

But only half is gone this we must confess.

Two pieces of him, you, and I.
Some grotesque being, a monster
stitched together by cobwebs and lye
But hush do not worry for we found her.

So a third is removed a piece cut out,
you know of his truths, desires, and loves,
but you did not know them, him, or me?
If you did it might be easier to confess
that perhaps we should turn the lock,
it's time to throw away the key.