Call this clearly suicidal, for it’s far too late to keep moving forward. Through the canvas that I’ve feared to paint, I think I just my write my final ode. Tears may stain my sojourn ink, but it won’t erase all the lies we’ve passed through hurried glances, it might have worked out if we weren’t such great actors. With every smile, my heart fell into a frenzy of inaccurate beats, with every glance, my lungs gave out and worst of all; with every kiss, I died a little more inside. I surely must fall into the depths of hell, for I must be the cruelest of demons to make an angel cry.
Cutthroat and most compassionate,
Divine and the outmost deadly,
Fallacious and at worst fictional,
Far beyond the depths of hell,
I wait, if only to restrain the stillness of the night,
Deep into the abyss of hate and love,
Will you wait for me?
The cruelest man in all of humanity’s deadly sins carries a gun that screams deafly of irony. Much similar to mine, but much more arid; for tears make the best glaze, and I have dared to taste their faulting sensation.
Do tell the angels to go back home,
And whisper to the mortals,
That heaven lies in smoke and gun powder,
Shall not dare to cut my tongue,
Instead to bathe me farther in sin,
Broken in its loving embrace,
Surely his comrades see the tears in my eyes, but he dares to look away. My love, look what has befallen us, look how life and death easily make a mockery of our eternal desperation for salvation. Slowly, they’ll see that cruelty is death’s unnerving enemy.
Down the trail of fallen tears we dance,
Only now you lead,
Kiss me one last time…
The sensation of true love’s only offer,
And mine alone to taste.