Fresh from the lathe Your bedpost pillar stands In support of the canopy above
A quarter of the strength needed to Elevate You upwards from the Floor below
A wooden column polished and Created to collect Hurt souls in notches
A monumental mast to be Molded by martyred men Out of love for You -•-
So it begins It's first nick comes as A scar that dents the fine finish An eyesore incision
The same as trash to treasure One mans pain becomes Your pleasure portrayed as A slash across the room
Etched so deeply The engraving as an epitaph for A damaged embrace of failed love
With chisel in hand You prepare Yourself to Chop and hack Your way Through honest men's lives
Consuming all in a Sculpting effort to find what You are truly looking for
Unknowing Your actions are a Mere aimless diversion from Living and existing as Your own shallow self -•-
This is just the start As more come and go Loving hearts are carved in One by one and staked down to Your ground
Chipping and scratching away Bits of wooden passion Fall in flakes and splinters that Gather to cover the carpet
With good looks and a shiny smile The gaps in Your picket post grow Gashes that grind down and Gnaw away with sharp selfish teeth
These grooves are reflective of Your own emotion But You refuse to let Yourself Slow the pace until You have reduced this Upright support to a skinny stick
Your bedstead now an homage to Constantly diminishing attempts to Shape Your life in love -•-
When will You be satisfied that It's finally been cut down to size?
Each slice doesn't change the score Every sliver shaved away leaves Your heart Your will Raw and sore
Trimming little by little Allowing hearts to crumble A work of art You've whittled in a Destructive stumble through Crushed people
The indentions You've made Are what have disintegrated Your shame
You've let them erode Eat and wear away Weaken and grind down Your heart and souls true desire to Devote Yourself to Just one man who will stay
You thought You could never align With a single indent for all time
Now do You would realize that You should have waited to Watch what You'd been Creating all along?
The bed has collapsed Your bedpost is now A jewelry box -•-
Kneeling in reverence Apprehensively opening the lid to Reveal its contents
You find nothing except emptiness The same as the Company of the room You're in
No more places to tally tick marks No more hearts left to hurt No more bodies remain to Cut and burn
Let the leaning sleep and the Loneliness serve as a Reminder of Your reckless abandon
No ring will ever reside in Your box Your finger will be bare forever
As punishment for Your Torment and misery Anguish and agony Sadness and suffering in Perpetual heartache