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