Bloodstained parchments.
Broken oaths.
Chiseled granite
with
promises
weightless as shadows.

But still we lie.

Wading in  the great nothing,
waist deep in murky inks,
wandering
sightless, senseless,
I feel my way.

Memories of grey skin,
black blood.
******* wrapped in ropes,
cherry blossoms
and alcohol.

Still we love our bruises.
  
Blind and cold
in the nothing,
we feel our way.