It was not yours, the night breathed old onto your cold new skin,
It was mine, the moon shone in my created eye.
It was mine, the moon shone in my created eye.
I knew how you would feel, selfish and divine,
new, believing it was yours alone to love.
You spoke outward, voice caressed atop the harsh waves,
crashing onto jagged rock, broken bones of my battered body.
I floated away on the salted grave you sang, then stopped,
spread out on the mountain meeting the moon, I let light melt from my heart.
Life reaped, pooled and poured, your finger depressed a print on the sand,
a strange being to forge life from ruins of death in the depth of all.
a strange being to forge life from ruins of death in the depth of all.
You were mine. Alive. I swallowed your lies whole until only hollow love remained,
echoing, yearning. But you were mine.
echoing, yearning. But you were mine.
