I crawl and dwell,
Where faces embrace my Hell.
Where love is most potent,
Is where my misery is frenzied.
There are demons in this place,
This wasteland of remembrance.
This place so small,
I wish it would grow tall.
I am a husband to misery.
It is because of how late the fallen evening
Roses sprout along the sides of walkways.
Am I in love with them?
They do not move with the wind.
I am not a husband to any eternity.
One that I’d fathom, to be eternal, as long
As the world grows sideways.
It extends as vast as my lonely heart.
Is all the world two-dimensional?
As flat as people themselves?
We seem to live,
In a world that’s lost touch with the three,
To make a family.
I am a husband to cruelty.
A wickedness I’ve seen so very vividly,
It has coursed itself over me,
It has run over my face,
As endless tears.