Someday, I will forget.
And all the hurt and burnt pieces of my memory will be gone.
I will someday cut my bonds,
That bind me in this wretched fire.
This love that burns,
This love that bites,
This love that torments as i writhe in its spite.
In the bloody mess of my consciousness
As the day gets hotter and the hours longer
And my mind had wandered into the farthest reaches of my consciousness,
The sickly hands of boredom twists its fingers around my wrists,
And it is far too easy to succumb to it's soft caress.
The boy on the other side of the world is beautiful,
Exquisitely pieced together,
Like a sculpture made from broken glass,
Each piece worn smooth to the touch.
You're dead, and the realisation simply passed you by.
Those stars have left your eyes and in their absence have left a glassy surface,
All those tears you collected and kept hidden away
Now seep burning through your veins and disturb your souls purpose.