Hold your head close,
Soft one,
There is still another tear left to consume,
Tragic one.
Your belly requires the sustenance
Of an aching noon
Where dreams are caught in the highest sun,
As oceans are wept from the furthest gaze
Of tinted eyes.

Wildest mornings
Come upon your brow,
For we believe the shell of needless stains
In our bodies
Have amounted for all,
With none for the call.
Mourning the sight
Of graves.

Bleed your bliss wide open,
To quit your tragedy,
For its pages were too heavy
To your moldering arms.
Life leaves a note
To your solitude,
Voided of fame
That once did you shame.

I can feel your sentencing,
Your lowering
To a six-foot departure
From the shell of my arms,
From the stains of my tears
Against my helpless hands.

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