Let me touch your crystal flesh,
smashing upon the rocks of my deceit,
let the fire rage upon your breath,
and let your polished hair,
lay soft against my cheeks,
embed your constricted love, within my chest,
fill my lungs with your hatred,
of spoken words,
and let, me be the harbinger of,
my hearts, death,
let me touch your pain, and
give you the world to lay
your troubled mind to rest,
ask me questions of this life,
when I’m deceased and only then,
declare your heartache,
flourish in the joys of my mistakes
and grow roses upon my grave,
that die in dismal recollection,
of the lives your love could have saved…
© Myles Dacus 2013
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