It’s not realistic, living according to these old beliefs,
Eyes snap open, the nightmare now begins, no relief.

I’ve been there before - on the receiving end of being adored,
A smile grips your lips as I lay dying beneath your sword.

You’re like the idea of a miracle that births and then bleeds,
this time’s the last, only our third second chance it seems.

You don’t want what we aren’t to end, you remind me how we’ve grown,
but if that’s the truth, then explain picking out the names for our tombstones.

Raised from the start to get chopped down at the heart,
suffocation is leading, content is receding to do its part.

There’s a ghost here, buried, tangled and hidden amongst our things,
we rifle through, shuffling memories, forgetting how unprepared we are for what they bring.

We had a life once, even if the idea was forged and falsified,
we held each other, dodging raindrops and insults in stride.

We were too much for one another, gale wind force meeting mud and stone,
I woke beside myself, breathing and ashamed to be alone.

Our story printed in pictures, facts and figures,
One decision late and those after effects still linger.

Hiding in plain sight but blended with the dark,
me, the light of your life snuffed out, leaving my mark.