I'm sick to death of your silence. I'll die before you can catch me crying for grace with empty praise. Even after your absence, no-one seems able to believe that you're gone. I believe you were never there. I'd run like hell from a thousand luminous forms that look just like you, but contain nothing of the truth. I'd die to avoid your thousand hands, that pull me down towards any pretension of permanence, and I see you feel the same. You've left me here and hidden in a corner. You would die to escape my touch. Call it an act of love. Call it whatever you like - I know the truth. I was born with a knife in my hand, and no other fitting target, so raise your head, bare your throat. You don't deserve conversations with the beloved. You have a poison tongue. You should be chained to the floor, and left to rot, with all the other dogs. I'll come to you and sing. You'll never wake up from this dream. I see you, finally, I do. Your face is the same as mine: empty of everything but hunger. Why in god's name do you smile? How in god's name can you smile? Look at what you've done with what I gave. I've found the only true meaning of surrender. It was not within your words. I am a stone, this is an ocean, and I will be washed clean, and forgotten, and reduced to sand.