The words don’t come, but burn in my throat.
The stars offer no comfort, no remorse for death.
I want to tell her about the blood on my hands,
And the rage that burns away any sweet memories,
And the adoration I feel, and tenderness I want to show.
It’s all a shooting star falling to earth, it’s fire for nothing.
I can’t fake it through the smiles and silly jokes today.
Just stare at the table, drink my cold, unsweet tea,
And dream of angels or retribution or making them all pay.
I know she’s worried, but I don’t know what makes sense.
I give her a smile, that some other dreamer left for dead.
In the morning it won’t be any better, the world’s still there.
I think she loves me, and maybe there’s a future together,
If all these demons can be made to be upright citizens.
If the world can allow that much, someone to hold me close
And face the death rattle of the waking world, death like piety,
And still carve a paradise from the stone of angel’s hearts.
Than maybe it will all be worthwhile, to be here today.