My wounds are red and righteous;
that's why I wear them as a crown.
Too heavy to bear this now.
Too holy are the words
that forked my tongue in thirds.
Duality was not enough;
I lost my soul in the end
when all I ever wanted
was to share it with my friend.
Too thin to hold the halo high.
Too lazy are the eyes
that watch this tower topple.
A throne was set on fire;
I couldn't stand the heat of heaven
and as you began to fan the flames
the smoke was more than I could breathe in.
My apple ripened rotten and black with poison;
that's why I'm burning in the garden where we fell.
Too late to cast your spell.
Too weary are the sighs
that judgment discerns to all be lies.
Silence ate away the worms;
I scraped my palms across the soil
to feel the remnants of dust and ash
upon a firmament scorched and spoiled.
My voice wept as a fading whisper;
that's why I saved it for when the bells let loose their song.