Wreckage // Part II

I.

We grew up in the age of idiocy

as children down along the seaside.

 

Back in the day, I wanted to sail ships,

leave this beach in our wake.

 

The sand was a minefield of salt;

the ocean would have been a tomb

if not for a sky guiding me along.

 

There's a galaxy in your irises - northern lights

that capture a glow inside, like jarred fireflies.

 

You're the only home I've known.

I was likely to find my way back

if my universe ever faded from view.

 

I prayed those stars would never burn out.

 

 

II.

As time got the better of us, conjoin we did -

our lips, our hips, our slowly dying dreams.

 

I swear, I loved you most these nights.

 

Those were what I'd title as "glory days",

the closest I've ever been to God

while choking on your rapture.

 

We made love upon the delicate turf

of our secret, whisked away from

grit and soot of a heartless world.

 

What we had was ethereal.

 

Why should it be expected

to drift, pull, and crash apart?

 

That's what the ocean's supposed to do. Not us.

 

 

III.

It was all an accident.

I was afraid, and I fucked up

your plans, your future.

 

I don't want to lose you ... I'm sorry.

 

 

IV.

I left home without repose,

set myself in motion towards the harshness

of the reality left behind for me.

 

I moved on without you.

 

I convinced myself I could survive

without that brilliance.

 

I drifted off the edge for a few years.

It wasn't the best idea, but

something is better than nothing.

 

Answer me this.

 

What is a world without a light

in the lives of millions?

 

The answer? A dead one.

 

 

V.

I'm desperate;

you've spurred my agony.

 

I can't live with this obsession

you've built from his salvation -

an eternal damnation.

 

Wake up!

 

 

VI.

Decades are too long to crave someone,

so I came to sate my hunger.

I pried you from a monster's clutches

and made way for escape.

 

I scavenge through the remains,

from the wreckage of what's left.

Ever the sight to behold, a work-of-art,

a scattered, wild beyond.

 

Gripping onto our legac

after the fabric had been torn,

I stitch myself within your patchwork clouds -

let's make this whole again.

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