It's easier to embrace smudged crimson
And washed jet - they hurt with an E-string
Staccato, a familiar and a constant.
Come, let me don my madness once more
And laugh in the face of well-known shards
Like they love me. Take my filigree of words
And tell me nothing, not even that it's beautiful -
I cannot be answered, I, who would eat the night
Whole, I, who break at the slightest tremor,
And love it, too. Nothing was so true save falsehood,
And no love was sweeter than its cold kiss
Flung back in my young, still innocent, face.
Did you ever think to ask? I thought you never would.
I've accustomed to the silence now. I fill it with storms.