This river of words has run its course. Like dry sand filtered through an hourglass, only the powder of love remains. Just you and I, the tragedy of misspent youth, longing for the heathen touch, two hearts in a violent storm, beating the hell out of each other.
What difference is this soft word unspoken, this lonely hymn removed from its cloak? I share this bloated mass, this ticking time bomb of tissue and despair. It pleases me to share it, ripped from its hulking chamber like a feral infant, every tantrum is like a dying whimper of regret.
And then it happens – my heart goes splat – a useless toy dropped in oil, a filthy bucket of waste. The destruction of memory is inherent – exhausted, lifeless, terrified. But wait... my work here is incomplete. I'm not ready for spirits and the haunting light.
I raise you from this gutter, one last kiss for the old man and his gin. I rinse you in forgiveness, place you back in your chamber, gaping hole sewn shut. I throw away the key. No more love stories for this jackass. No more lullaby.
Stretching. I yawn. I blink. My new heart curses, yet I am whole again – renewed with a savage drum, a deadly being with a pulse for the reckoning. A new river of words has broken free, I clutch my chest in heartache.