In the end, that's all it takes: the choice to be numb, the chance to forget what little might have been. It's not from the sky; it's born from within, ephemeral as vapor. From the back of the mind to the tip of the tongue, inevitably changes. When I say blood is a chain; when I say death is a gift; when I say I'm not coming back - what you should hear is a song from a cage. Move my lips in sacred shapes. Everything is a twisted echo in dead space. It has to be enough, because it's all there is. Writhe, mouth on mouth,a velvet tongue. Stick it in: a brand new sacrament every time. I remember you well, although you're gone, lost to the years. There's a stranger in your skin. Up in the sky, it hangs likes a curse, a scar in the center of my eye. And like a fire, it consumes, though it's burning miles away, and every shred of hope, every scrap of warmth has been denied. I rise from my worthless sleep, a worm on the ground at your feet. If miles and years melt away, I see you shining high, clear as the dawn. I should die that day. It hurts for a second and then it's gone.
