Silent tombstones; sentinels of stone
You stand among them,
My little gypsy king.
To be buried on the hillside.
Away from the chapel,
And the God who hates us.
I have killed you, you tell me.
But it is you who have killed me.
Or maybe, or mayhap;
We have killed each other.
For you are my life and my soul,
No one can separate us;
Not even stingy,
I love you, though you are my murderer.
You stood in my garden,
Waiting for the windows to open;
My silent consent.
We exchanged those whispers;
And when you left I could not live.
Do you remember me, your dear Catherine,
Now that I'm underground?
My gypsy king, your eyes filled;
With emotion—raw and sweet.
As you hid and wept;
Ripped your skin to see the blood.
I heard your prayer,
Your cry to me.
Yes, my love,
The murdered haunt their murderers;
I shall drive you mad;
Haunt you until you shut those demonic eyes
I will haunt you, lest you lose me to the abyss.
Nothing will separate us.
You are my life, and I am yours.
Cruel Heathcliff, I am yours.
And once you stood;
Waiting for my window to open.
Now, I claw.
And I long to open yours.
Take me back;
Bring me back into my world.
I'd been lost,
I'm come home; Let me in!
Cruel Lockwood, cruel Heathcliff;
It's cold on the moor—
Let me in.
A/N: i got inspired to write this while reading Wuthering Heights again. The Bronte sisters have become my most admired writers. a few references to the book. it's not very good, but enjoy anyways.