Here is the cruelest fate,
That life has placed upon my plate.
I have furnished the table with silverware,
Of those to my type.
And I will dine on what you have given me
In the Hell we are both living,
And for the Heaven we are both missing,
Upon the Earth where we are both grieving.
The nectar of romance,
A sweet curse, a bitter blessing.
A little droplet of a memory once believed to be a sibling.
And yet, it is a scarecrow
That possesses no life,
Because, all we’ve drunk is the strife
That lifts away stones,
To see the past.
To see the past that howls the world to storm
Itself, in twisting winds
And cursing tides.
I am a little hypocrite,
Who deserves not that droplet,
And yet, I have received it.
For I will suffer as you have suffered,
Live as you lived,
To understand you.
Denial is my misfortune, while solace is your acceptance,
My beauty, with radiant face
And dirtied locks.
Tresses made of wire,
And form made of marble,
The air that you exhale closes a chapter
Where love was a cruel endeavor.