I’m sorry for wearing you on my sleeve,
and giving you away, as if you were
but a stone that held me down.
You are a compass,
a compass with a lost sense of direction.
A compass which only points me
to the closest point of comfort,
A compass which shows me
the place but not the path,
and I always seem to fall down the waterfall.
Drowning endlessly of my own downfall,
I should be more careful when searching for her;
for my lungs, intoxicated by the smoky waters
have forgotten the aroma of fresh air.
I sit waiting for you to return to my chest.
I will leave her the key to the back door,
which has now been scorched
and cut by the blades that came before.
I will protect you with my life
and if you ever choose to see her again,
I will make sure not to doubt you
but instead, look at what you’re staring.
Determine why you, as a holy spirit
would be happy with such an earthly ordeal.
But if you truly believe that
she is the one, I may not stop you.
Instead, I will drown myself
in the ecstasy of pain and suffering,
as the splinters slowly disintegrate
and become part of my holy apparition.
I will travel across the globe only to hear her whispers,
I will tremble at the thought of her blizzard-like words,
I will remember where we came from,
and I will not forget what you, my darling, desire above all.
You blind arrow of faith and discipline,
hold her gently in the cellars of your den,
but don’t let her see the sun.
For the light may hurt her eyes
and she may never return
to catch another glimpse again.