Greetings, to the dark heart light,
gazing through a fractured glass window.
Soundless; explicit as the whispers I recite,
for alone I am, on this nostalgic tonight.
Sanded tears, like Styx they flow
a darker crimson bled even millenia ago;
And with these stains, I spell,
tearing painful sonnets, from poetic tomes to the wall,
so distantly you hear, "It feels like we've said farewell".
Coldly wrapped in black drapes,
soaked in faint memories of your touch.
Sleeping, heavily, from which there is but one escape;
pleasures with your heart my soul would clutch.
Draw thin lines, replica my patience; and stare empty at the clock,
swimming in vast forests of the painful tick-tock.
Losing remembrance of how much time has really passed,
your smile, your heart, your scent, all seem like the last.
I feel scorpions running down my spine,
the venom pouring from gate number nine.
Freezing to death in that very abyss,
not a breath of fire;
ignite me with those tender, burning lips I miss
catch my soul as it slips from this icy prison of desire.
I dance with dying swans,
on the horizon of black and bloody dawns,
the silhouettes and their pirouettes,
wish I was part of those duets.
This is midnight's late reminder of
Her, the one I lost, the one I love.
And they all paint me with their tears,
with paintbrushes made of jagged spears,
tattoos of Her; the one I'll miss for eternal years.
