Oh for the hand that has raised,
that has haunted.
The forcing of flies
through this carrion heart.

Everyone is lost,
not just those you have found.
You found them in photographs,
buried underground.
Confessing all to time,
conceding time to all.
This murderous reproach,
of "every time we fall".

Tearing every tormented second apart,
eating at the meat from your tick-tock heart.
The Thrones in your heart start taking stock,
stop all the wounded time lapse clocks,
then,
open
the
locks.

Let me in
let me in,
little piggy,
let me in,

where you end
and where I begin...