Amour, amour, the starlit kiss,
the angel’s breathy sigh,
the hand that mends the twist of fate
—turns back the touch of time.
silence wrapped against a heart
that seals the light of sky
the injured touch and brazen stare,
(a fire that will not die)
the whispering of fingertips
along a fevered brow,
the view of moonlight set with morn,
(and carved against a vow)
Amour, amour! the pain of loss,
that met with love of smiling,
the gentle brush of laughter, set
with charm remarked beguiling~
I’m like an urging in your blood
A rush of speed inside your head
And you’ll never win against it,
We’ll just decide when we’re both dead
I’m a beast inside your soul
A fiendish frenzy through your veins
A smile to cause your heart break,
With the hands to soothe the pain
Intrigue and delight,
A source of wonder and chagrin,
Remember dear, remember!
That I’m the devil you let in.
And remember that you chose
To love the animal in me
A vicarious atonement
for the pain you’ll always need
And father bless the wicked
But let the innocents prevail
Amidst your journey through the fire
And the sins that you exhale
Smile because you want it
(Cry because you’ll never win)
And if you’re saddened, just remember:
I’m the devil you let in,
Yeah, I’m the devil you let in…
she was dressed in black
when they finally took her pulse
and she was bleeding out this sorrow
from the blank spots in her pores
and they promised that tomorrow,
that tomorrow’s gonna come,
but her eyes are set on somewhere deep,
and past the setting sun.
She knows she’ll never shake it,
that sort of crying in her eyes,
and she can feel her body dying
but she knows that it’s not time,
but they said that in the end when
all the sadness is all gone,
that someone’s gonna be there
and they swear they’ll guide her home.
yesterday’s a mystery, but no more than today,
and there’s a solitude in silence
and a heart in disarray,
and she finally finished sewing that one outfit
for the one
who she hopes is gonna be there when her dyin’ is all done
and this one is the story that she’s never gonna tell,
and this one is scraped up knee that bled each time she fell,
and this one is that speck of tear inside of each her eyes,
and this one is the face that she would use for a disguise.
she knows she’ll never fake it,
that sort of dying in her eyes,
and she’s always sort of bruised
and battered down from time to time,
and by now she knows the ending,
(she’s pretty sure her story’s done,)
so she’s finally gonna’ walk alone
into the setting sun.
a funeral pyre was set for me,
amidst the dark and briny sea
against the stormy background’s woes,
and listless wind’s enchanting throes-
I lost the bet and lost a life,
(sacrificed the stitch for strife)
it’s not if any death will do,
you must be thorough, through and through!
called a name amid the crowd,
but lost the spindle to the shroud,
smashed their smiles and ran along
the battlements adorned in song-
in every truth there lies a lie,
and hopelessness that ambles by,
when twinkles fail to glisten soft,
the flesh that bleeds in time forgot,
if ever there was love in sin,
(and ravagement to wander in)
it’s in the telling, not the tome,
if death should choose to come back home-
Because they wouldn’t call the doctor
For the 730 flight
And they said that she’d be fine if she just
made it through the night
the white pills make you sleepy
but the blues will help you wake
when you’re dreaming of a future
without the need for an escape
it’s a curious concussion, ingest the baby,
make it grow
superlative or not, will tell you
all you need to know
its not the dying, or the living,
its just the waiting in the line
its in knowing that tonight
the alcohol will make it fine
and they take and eat and shit
until they’ve bitten off your hands
and at the stroke of midnight
you get the list of their demands
porcelain or poison-mix the cup and
drink it down
because this scream is faintly dreaming
belladonna in the crown
and your teeth will all be useless,
and your skin will go away
and your eyelids will be heavy
when you’re dressed in your decay
but the curtain never closes,
it just lifts its head and sighs
because the tide of the illusion
is just a waking lullaby
you believe that you are weak.
because at night you rock yourself
whisper that tomorrow will be better
even though yesterday’s tomorrow has failed you
still, there is a dim hope burning in your eyes
you are stronger than you think
But every evening,
you will lift your battered wrists to the heavens
Hoping that the pale scars will be like a roadmap to god
if you wait long enough, they will guide him to you
down the thin path that you have set for him
because you once heard that his path is narrow-
but god is not in the air
he is not in the trees outside of your window
he is not in the places that you can see him,
because you have looked there-
god is in the breath that you have forsaken
in the life that you have given up on
now there is more remembrance than hope in you
there is now more thought of the past
less belief in a future, but
your hands are burgeoned. They grasp at the memories
your mouth is dry,
it holds only bitterness (but it recalls the sweetness far more profoundly.)
sadly, you know
your hands have held love. These hands have known happiness-
have molded and shaped it between their careful fingers.
still, they have forgotten the motion. Now they can only clench in awkwardness
find nothing to grasp, because comfort has left them frail-
your eyes have known darkness, and they understand it far better
because they have seen the light as well
you will sleep because you have to
you will sleep because it takes you away
you will lie in this echo, waiting for a distant star
to watch it fall on the horizon, close enough to wish,
but far enough to remind you-
that in the morning
repetition is all you know
time is painful,
and your scars have failed you, because your scars will never forget
but
you are lulled back to sleep…
by the sound of your heart beating,
by the sound of your heart breaking-
I laid in ruin
among the dusk
and spider webs by twilight
I heard the blood
and spoke a curse
while bathing in the moonlight
my words were glass
my thoughts were weight
and time, my weary sponsor
could not reason with my mind
(to make the better offer)
and promises, like candy
can taste pleasant on the tongue
and like the short-existing treat;
best given to the young
and needles mend and ribbons make up
pretty little band-aids
wrapped in lies and secret blights
that glisten as the light fades-
I chewed your name up with my teeth
I grimaced at the notion
spent ages whispering about
a young boy and the ocean
because the drought was so severe
the bottle’s never been that deep
the struggle brought the pain to light
and agony begot its sleep
distant though the voices are
the clouds are riddled high
the melodies; forgotten hope
(await the lover’s sigh…)
merethe walther 
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