one drop, then two.
Which descend suicidally
to the wooden box below
like Autumn leaves;
like a solitude’s tears.
Your roots,
fed with apathy,
remain buried. Cold within the ground;
while you, a rose,
wither
within my bitter heart of glass.
No, not glass. A plastic sheath.
Translucent.
Now, can I see your true intentions;
Why
then do you still persist with these false
pretensions?
Now I
a headstone of diamond
you a sword.
With a final thrust,
we’re one.
Retract your blade and watch as I
bleed
my love for you.
Alas, my love
was your only foundation.
You now lie here too,
amongst the desolates with Psyche.
I cannot hold you,
I cannot contain you,
I never could.
The light comes
with Aurora’s embrace,
only to have her prick a finger
upon a thorn;
a verdant spindle.
She then watches drowsily
as her golden hues
forever
bleed pastels, reds, and
bitter blues.
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