Homes

True friend of mine,
Hold me deep within your sorrowful bosom.
Drain me of all my worldly worries,
Help me blossom into a true moth.
To be given such freedom from you,
But so little time for such freedom to be used.

The words I speak inside of you,
Are bitter, all so bitter on my tongue.
A place in which all words are fire,
Burning me down, one by one.
Turning my sores, into proud wounds,
And draining the blood to make them fuse.

A powerful spire to the north,
To the east, further still, another.
Queen on Queen rivaled discontent,
I'll drink it all in friend.
Drink 'till I'm spent.
Another word, another story,
A lack luster fantasy,
With all the right placing,
For unbridled misery.