Posted: March 17, 2015 in Melancholia

Cold winds ruffle the unloved leaves

As the howls meet the lunar glare

Each moon, he lets himself fall again

Blind and vulnerable, his heart is bare

He offers it with such reckless abandon

Knowing well it would crack and break

This cycle is very vicious and endless 

The moon has passed, shards of glass

His eyes go dark, prey turned predator

Feast of hearts, a piece for each break

The thirst will not cease till he is whole

He drinks the tears that they have bled

The portrait is complete, the final piece

Another moon rises, the painful watch

He promises nothing, he merely offers

A glimpse of what can be held and felt

The show is over, he recoils into a shell

Leaving just an echo of a perfect world

His heart is a nomad, feet beating fast

With a touch that is cold and ruthless 

He is incapable of love…

The songs he sings himself to sleep.

The Aventurine


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