The Wasteland of Hearts and Spades

***Before reading this poem, I would like to explain it, to avoid confusion amongst readers. The first stanza, is a woman speaking, and the second is a man speaking. And from there out, keep switching between speakers each stanza. Woman, man, woman, man...etc. This is a poem about betrayal and the darker side of love. My apologies for the vast length, but I could not prevent myself from writing..***

Come out of the rain, I say,
soaked in apathy for, too long.
I weep on the shoulders of ghosts and dismay,
black sapphire tears crying, the dead man's song.
Barren, your tomb,
I'm the only wilting flower,
the shredded orchid, will never bloom,
only shadows left to devour...

I've laid on beds with a single nail,
suicidal episodes, they only fail.
The ghosts you lay with,
phantoms, miseries from once upon a time,
I've found Heaven, an ancient myth,
and Hell is the fires arresting you for crime.
My mistress is now the forgotten sun,
the scar tissue, she's undone...

Angels, they fell first,
but I'm still here,
lonely as broken faeries are looming near,
through centuries I've been cursed.
And through the damnation,
these eyes no longer see,
diamonds in the sky; the pure salvation,
endlessly drunken from a crimson sea.

I will not drink thine vintage wine,
even if your blood is of the divine.
Alas, I bear serpents on my wrist,
christened there for violent decision,
but I hear heartbeats within the mist,
discolouring all, with tunnel vision.
Through forgiveness and the essences of death,
once again, you take away my breath...

Sway with my arms, upon this unpleasant afternoon,
blessed, are we with orchestras of decay.
And dancers to the moon,
as we did in those golden days.

I'm dismayed, with your regalia of lies,
which I've sewed to my heart.
You and a league of spades brought my demise,
but still I make love with, you in this passionate art.

No...what you say is dreams,
mirroring the conquests of my sleep,
nothing's what it seems,
the abyss has grown too deep.
But still I care for moving mountains,
drinking betrayal from the lap of empty fountains,
and I'm waiting in a circle of stones, they call the Tor,
but without you, this isn't Avalon anymore...

Crawl back, into my grave,
goodnight kisses from Hell,
to breathe again I crave,
but into the spider's web I fell.
Wrapped me like a baby, in a cradle of dust,
the red on my hands has aged to rust,
there's still an ache in the past,
these words, I inscribe on your soul, will be my last.