The lion and the lamb


how long have you pressed your flower against his mouth in place of your lips?

How many echoless evenings have tainted your thoughts?

Which lady of night has he chosen in your stead?

Was she voluptuous?

Did she hang onto his flesh like ivy and tangle limbs in the darkness?

Did he kiss and nip her, leaving his trail of deceit?

All while you purge your soul in the bath water of Misery and Depression; they sing lullabies in your ear

you scrub to wash away memories but they prevail

haunting your ebbing ocean

pool into me, she screams to the heavens

what was it that you fell for?

The promise of a deafening morality or a gleaming in his eye when he stared you down?

Knowing all along the wall was rebuilding in you, you foresaw this desolation

he was not the infinite storm of consolation

in fact, he was disastrously empty

as he dipped his hands of bristle and point into your pot of ink

he painted a picture on your canvas

Destruction

Aching

Pressure

where do you belong now that he's stolen your soul?

Dear sister of pain, let him go

he thrives on your beating heart

you are not his illuminated background of doubt

I plead with you

o, worn soul, he could never be your savior

how long will you clash against his skin at nightfall as your eyes drain their dams?

You are not just a sweet tree of nectar for him to feed on and leave to rot in the harsh summer sun

you taste her on him

the bitterness will not pervade you

so please, mother of isolation, let him go

for it is his pained eyes that tell you all you need to know when lies drip from the creases of his mouth