(...)

(…)

I want to build my arms around you…
It’s the best that fantasy can do.
I thought it was your voice I heard
But it was the singing of a bird
As the darkness turned to gold
In a morning still and cold.

And I am withering to waste.
I see the loneliness I’ve faced
Is coming back again
Just as it’s always been.

And I want nothing to do with reality,
I just want you to lay beside me
And hear me forgive you your trespasses
As my blood burns and fades to ashes.

Will you kill me, so I don’t have to?
Is it too much for me to ask you
To break me again someday
That I may sleep forever and a day?
I cannot sleep now with the absence
Of everything I had once,
So please send me into the garden
Where the sun is always golden.
Where there is no future or past—
Only what is left of what I held last.

© 2021 Marten Hoyle