A poem, a set of lyrics… the label of this doesn’t much matter to me, call it whatever you like.
Dedicated to that which I feel for myself, and for she who scorned me.
There is a scent wavering
In the air I feel it
Not with senses of flesh
But my ailing spirit
Auras do not fade in my mind’s eye
They leave their mark, clawing
These energies do not lie
They burrow into me, gnawing
I recall the memories with perfect clarity
You bit into me, with such sweet succor
Teething on my bones, you brought me such delight
To see your smile, not just of flesh, but of soul
I was not incomplete before, but am now
The air, the words, the feel of shrill wind on my face
All conspire to torture, to hold
To think I had known cold
To ponder that I had grasped darkness
Only now does truth force me to bow
The fragrance is of fresh rain
Drizzling from the sharpest needles, in a forest of thorns
I miss the stabbing, the piercing
For in that pain I knew life, knew of fire
Nothing was sweeter than the swirling, the churning,
Of the blood pricked from me, washed into your sweet rain
I travel down an unknown road, walking over roots that claw at my feet
The fields ahead are a barren gray, empty of energy and life and hope
But behind me lies the sorrow, the merest fragment of what was
What damnation shall I be compelled to choose?
Always a third option, I whisper to myself
A way out, say the heroes of my youth and folly
Just shut them out, put your hands over the mouths of the world
Go your own way, go your own way
Fluttering on the autumn breeze, I cast myself in with the leaves, falling in their colors of truth
I give myself to that which is not known, nor can be
Perhaps I am free, perhaps I am still me
But never will her aura, be lost in that which I see
FIN