Spoiler! :
There's nothing worse than empty light, I know;
that flame on your fingertips that doesn't feel alive.
The words in your mouth are pleas,
stuck in the rivets under your tongue where they die to a sob,
unheard by the ones you didn't know were listening.
You never paid them much mind, anyway.
They're all asking you the same thing, anyways;
Why would you think that relief is immediate?
New life wouldn't be as stunning if its existence wasn't so carefully formed;
and formations that take time to create always come up with the least flaws.
Even so, you want the stars to mourn this loss- the loss of your hope
and the loss of your will-
because these beasts you once called people will never understand.
And what of the Holy Being that holds all of those stars
so gingerly between the lines of His fingertips?
What of the God who sits in the Heavens?
The One you were so sure that you could believe in?
He's close enough to catch the wisps of the trail of your breath;
He's holding up this slab of granite and corrupted diamond for you-
what you're holding yourself is dead.
What you're holding yourself is something that you haven't realized
that you can let go of.
I'll never be more than human, my friend,
but I'll pry the beast, already decaying, from your fingertips and from your neck,
from your heart and tongue and mind.
I'll wait with you, under the security of your very own roof,
and even if you're afraid of the shrieks of the wind outside, screaming at you
to let it find its way in,
I'll keep reminding you that you're safe between these walls,
crafted purely from something so tastefully intangible.
I'll keep reminding you that your solutions all come,
layered in a blanket of smog and a sheet of things that you don't understand,
and that they come piece by confusion-shrouded piece.
It isn't, after all, immediate.
Keep it in your heart that,
if the shadows bleed into the skin under your eyes,
and if the pain comes and goes with the red on your arms,
that the red in my heart and the shadows beneath my lids will grow with yours,
Even if only to assure you that you'll never throb alone.
And perhaps my tears will flood the self-inflicted dips and arches
etched into your precious skin- and perhaps you'll be blessed with the knowledge that
I'm right here, and that my eyes are leaking saltwater with you.
And please; I'll keep praying that this
metaphorical knife, embedded in your chest, never becomes
Real.
Because,
my friend,
I'd hurt if you were gone.
Spoiler! :
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