The night does so little to appease my discomfort,
tremendous darkness; “here, hold onto these nightmares as a last resort.”

Whimpers only server to wake memories and practical mistakes,
kind eyes and a crowded heart, a good person this does not make.

You, the dry grass - my intentions the burning and the falling ember,
there’s magic somewhere there between us, the key is just trying to remember.

Innocent eyes lead me to believe in vintage dreams that die,
I picked the perfect poison, it’s no longer a matter of choosing sides.

I salvaged suicide; burdened and buried beneath another’s lies.
One soul crushed, it was never enough, between the waves and tides.

I’ll try my best to pick up pieces of myself that I left for dead,
I tried everything that I could to paint a picture with words instead.

I’ve encased repressed disasters, situated, ‘in case”,
a well placed stab in the dark, is still blindly swinging in place.

Retreat, I say, retreat. It’s a desire I wish I didn’t have to repeat,
curious decision, insipid revision, in boredom this cancer did secrete.

There’s a ballroom breaking, barking and demanding order from footsteps falling,
hide my hand in the comfort of your palm, it’s pressing, love lingering and mauling.

I’ve cradled our future, torn between the broken and drowning,
you are the special, the heathen, the dead Queen that we’re never crowning.