All the love in the world
Couldn't make you whole,
And drowning in the tears
That beauty, in her cruelty,
Summoned from your soul,
You were spend, and left to suffer,
Forgetting the sounds of your name.
I tried to hold you up,
But I couldn't save you,
And I was forced to give you up to darkness.
Are youlost to me, then?
Are you beyond the reach of my touch?
Can you hear me when I call to you,
Or, are you so far down you're gone?
I never told you that I loved you,
That I could no more give you up
Than I could slow my heart to a still.
Pain is a terrible thing to be addicted to,
And somewhere alon the line,
Which did you need more:
The burn of the fix,
Or, the burn of the puncture?
Did you ever really need me?
Or were you merely counting,
Holding your breath 'til
Something told you it was time to let go?
The perfection of your form was wrough with scars,
And nowhere could I lay a finger
That I didn't wound you.
You told me once that love was an illusion.
Does it follow that happiness is relative?
That tragedy is a state of mind?
Is it the same with death?
Was your pain, then, a joke?
To which you'd forgotten the punchline?
Or was it merely a riddle you simply couldn't solve
Without the expert advice of a blade?
But in the end, it doesn't matter,
Because no matter how hard we fight to breathe,
We are, after all, only human,
And our fate is written in the very nature of ourselves:
So much godly splendor and beauty and majesty,
Laid to waste,
Wrapped up tight in packages of flesh and bone
That, in the end, can only break and bleed and die.
Original poem composed by Nicole Gay.