I wait, alone, in unhallowed, desolate ground,
My vision is blind; my wrists--both are bound.
The earth is dry, divided by its many cracks,
The sky is void of all colors save for greys and blacks.
I'm among the dead, the ones and only,
Without you, it gets less lonely.
That's when the ghosts come howling, astir:
I used to get so bored by how beautiful you were.
We shared the same dreams, but come the end
We realize Death is our only friend.
Subconscious--I had never come to be,
Our spectators found comedy in our tragedy.
Lies, our script, was the dominant eloquence,
A constant discoloring from your abscence.
But they watched with delight our distorted play,
The moral being that happiness is meant to decay.
When we see that vacancy is all that's left,
In the end we realize they are the only ones who laugh.