Oh for this moment may I allow the depression to escape.
Much like a child this feeling is unbeknownst to me, this must be bliss.
Such a beautiful day, a perfect day for this heart to cease.
I cannot press the issue, the walls impede.
These piles have become monstrous, limbs interwined.
Less horrific, if the hands were being held.
Forearm to calf, we lay in the sun.
I've become the foundation to a pile of souls, but I am nothing to build
on.
The weight upon my shoulders, too much to bear, you're the straw.
If only I could start over, would I be here now?
Do not depend on me, I'm far more brittle than what I set out to be.
My life but a charade, nothing new.
This game of a life, it's not meant for you.
Hand to your heart, your body close to mine.
This is what has become of stars and suns.
A galaxy away, but you shine so bright.
Though this vessel breaks in two, cracked tonight.
Toenails and lips, and fingers and thighs, it's the piles of bodies I've
come to deny.
One by one, humanity crumbles, and as it gives way, I find myself in a
crevice.
The antagonist but only for you, this is my charade, and it's not yet
through.
Take what you will, and leave what will be, because in the end, it's all
flames to me.


Penned by my hand on the 4th of Solis, in the year 549 AD.