Hold this hand, scissors clenching,
pour the poison it’s my thirst that needs quenching.

A steady rhythm of words, unhelpful and reminding,
I purposely take my place away from you, a need for unwinding.

If prayers are screamed, do they reach invisible gods faster?
like your puppet, strings attached, hand and foot and you’re my master.

Passive trance, a spell’s been cast, two more steps and it’s over,
pursuing victor, nameless captor, retreating defender and life destroyer.

I paused defeat on the battlefield, bloodied and draining of life’s vestiges,
I missed the clue, the cue, non-verbal in its delivery, your messages.

I used these hands to try and pry the lie from your insides,
but someway, good conscious effort died, as it decides.

Rummage through our afterlife, baskets and letters set ablaze,
you go on living, loving, laughing and pretend that I should be un-phased.

A life standing tall, upright, and a history of “practice what you preach,”
in death, lying down, parallel just hoping that I’ll find what you seek.  

You fill my heart with what if’s and secrets to puzzles that never came true,
there’s an advantage, something better, and you’re right there, never missing your cue.

Help me hold on to us as yesterday is used as evidence of broken trust,
forget the good and harvest the bad, as you spread my ashes into the dust.