You cleaved me open
And left my sun-bleached ribs
Across the shores of our youth.
There, by the sea,
I gathered sea glass with which to build my home –
And every glittering, skittering ray of light
Was a reflection of the darkness I bore within.
I built the foundation on an eon’s worth of driftwood,
Claiming the detritus of long-ago civilizations as my own,
Yet I am still waiting
For the day you’ll come storming back in
And set fire to my bone-dry flesh and blood home.
I tried you tell you;
I spoke unto you,
“My heart is not made of stone,”
But all you ever wanted
Was to sit on that blood-red throne.