For Aeons Spent

O my soulmate, my sweetest friend,
arise from your grave and enter my dreams
and exorcise the demons that haunt me,
as I linger in an undying grief.

O the cruelty, how blessed be the wicked
in this world of false hope and doomsday prophecies;
You were far too young to die,
I wasn't meant to be the one to survive.

So speak in the tongue of dead Gods,
and usher the age of darkness in;
I never intended to underestimate
the suffering you were drowning in.

All that remains, and matters now,
is a world that I've since long forgotten
where the true monarchs rule for aeons spent
as we walk on the dying embers.

For we were butterflies drawn to the fire,
chased by the children of curious kings
that built their thrones on the blood
shed for every dream now dead.

O my soulmate, my sweetest friend,
why did you usher in not the morning,
but left me hollow and all alone
to suffer in the endless dark.

And every morning sun
radiates beautifully
for the blessed ones
that live on top of the earth.

Though you entered the abyss as if it was providence,
you were never able to unchain my torment.
You were never able to create lasting hope
for someone perfectly twisted like me.

But the sound of your voice
sings perpetually inside my mind,
and your legacy is carved
into the bones of my rib-cage.

We didn't have a good finale
because how would any of us prepare
for the calamity that turned our dreams into nightmares,
when you died without even saying goodbye?

O mercy for us wicked,
the guilt is a cross on my back.
Why did I survive
only to be left behind?