You can't understand
The words that I write
My pen is distorted
I can't seem to type
The flowers have wilted
We awoke from the dream
And I wish you were happy
But I can't seem to think
What is the problem?
What is remorse?
Why aren't you ready
For a proper discourse?
I hate what you've done
And I hate myself more
For letting it happen
And holding the door
I've found someone else
But it isn't the same
She doesn't quite know me
And can't spell my name
It's a Tuesday gone missing
A week dead at sea
The tombstone is missing
And yet I can see
As lust ensnares others
With vines and with tongues
You dance in the moonlight
As the poet, he hums
A song of remission
The plain spoken creed
The last of the saviors
The last who shall bleed
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