What could I have said?
Holding down my feelings,
My sighs are tragic.
Where is grieving going to get me?
You provide the same comfort
Orpheus did to Eurydice,
And how history challenged
Them nevertheless.

I could blur it out; piece by piece.
Wild, intimate, restless;
I’ll set myself ablaze,
Because timing is the face
of cruelty; wishful thinking.

I’m putting myself in
An illusion, and it’s where
I am going wrong, or is it?
The prophecy stands high,
I’m just hallucinating,
Where you are enough to
Fill me in with your uncertainty.

You have rebellion in your breath,
And you play with fire,
I like the warmth, but
fear the heat it
eventually turns into,
And when you started,
It was the beginning
Of the end.