Dead (To me)
The dead do breathe-
They walk and heave,
Shed a trail of skins
Like eager snakes,
attending their own wakes
They watch us cry and wail
Over each long-forgotten tale,
Delight in wringing hands-
Hanging heads and weeping eyes
Are to them sweet lullabies
My melody soothed you most,
I being the unwitting host
Of shards and shadows
Forged in crimson ire,
Deep in your self loathing mire.
My deepest fear was losing you,
That you'd fade like morning dew
Consumed by rising sun-
But, for love, I could not see
That you were always dead (to me).
-CF









