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How many tears must I shed before I see clearly?
When will it be enough to make you hear me?
Who will call when I scream, and the mountains shall hear,
And the thunder doesn’t know what to whisper in my ear?

If I can cry one last tear; hold it at arm’s length
Will the pleasure of the sorrow give me the strength
To dig a grave that eats everything when I am alone,
As if I could bury myself in these thoughts on my own?

I am staring at my spirit, and pretending that its clean,
And the shame and the blame are why it is dying.
And my guilt at pushing you away with too much care
Is getting me nowhere.

Paralyzed by survival, I am my own poison drink,
And my cup runs over every time I think
Of how it began, and what crawls here in the end,
And there is nothing of my soul left here to defend.

I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry I let myself get in the way.
You’re still here in memory, and that is why I pray
For solidity of what once was to come alive,
For fantasy and reality to arrive

Be at one, and never lose you again.
Never feel this kind of pain.
And I just wish you would speak,
For your silence makes me weak
And there is nowhere I can hide
And it is as if we both have died
But are too stubborn to lie still,
Too stubborn to admit to the kill
And don’t forget there is nothing you could do
That would ever make me stop loving you,
Nothing to make me stop loving you.

© 2021 Marten Hoyle