Darker nights and deeper breaths,
no vices seem to shake the sweats,
that crash upon the rocky shores,
where we once picked pebbles—
You slam the door.
It roars like thunder in deafened ears,
and I slip under, lips stained with tears.
Oh, let me surrender! Cut me off from the roots!
Sink your teeth into my neck,
I’m your fallen fruit.
Fallen star, guiding light,
I wish I was the thing you liked.
But if I’m not, I wish with spite,
you see me when you sleep tonight.
Oh, must I succumb to such fickle ways,
and sail so sourly upon crestfallen waves?
To what avail, does this fair torture bring,
if what lies beneath blue currents bleeds—
absolutely nothing.
no-thing…
no-thing…
no-thing…
It echoes amongst these tumble weeds,
like nails on a chalkboard— dead air proceeds,
dead end, deadlock, does it all die down?
How much time is too little,
if it takes so little to drown?
I found a quiet spot at the back of your heart,
a dusty old theatre, where I play every part,
dark curtains pull back, and I take centre stage.
Cue the spotlight, I’m ready—
But what more could I say?
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