Music: All Them Witches – Dying Surfer Meets His Maker
Taken loosely from the idea of a lyrical essay
The boy doesn’t love you.
And why should he?
Don’t “please mister” me …
You’re the culprit here. Look at those hands, doused in red.
Disgust! That’s what I feel when I look at you.
The truth deserved better.
Better than being dragged by your breathless frame,
Heaving from the act,
Down the drain.
I’ll ask you again.
When no was the answer …
Why didn’t you just give in?
We travel these paths, burdened with purpose and prose, in hopes that we’ll not long travel alone.
In your eyes I find a spirit, a soul, a beacon that flashes through the darkness of my night.
A thousand words I know but not one that can express the way my soul reaches for yours.
Are our arms enough, will we be able to reach, when our spirits entangle across this space?
In my bones I ache, every inch of my being screams to stay, rattling my steps as I back away.
Because we’re just people, different, incomplete and the sum of our moments is lost on me.