When will the clouds part?

Like the sea did for Moses’ sake.

And make me a way to believe

That the ocean didn’t kill the sun,

When you left me here last dusk.

 

Throughout the night I laid

And bled in the arms of my muse,

Who just stuck by, though I did refuse.

He cleaned my wounds with torn parchments;

I think I bled to death that decade.

 

For now there is nothing left in me.

My wounds have healed like the sky.

All is well like it is not.

My eyes are heavy and head is heaving,

The light has come but not the sun.

 

I have survived at the cost of my life,

Slipping through the years I have reached this age.

Where I died young but I was old.

Under the warm skin the blood runs cold;

The memories have killed all my thoughts.

 

As naked feet reach the shore of my sanity,

The billows of our memories pull me in.

And as I drown like the sun-

Make a boat of those parchments,

And sail them to the horizon.

 

Also, don’t make me a shrine

I haven’t gone, just died.

I will come back like before-

Rising from the dead of graves,

Then I’ll bleed some more, I’ll die some more.

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