Conscious; I open my eyes to a familiar canvas.
The beautiful song of a young girl as I lie on the forest’s floor,
staring up at the twinkling sunlight filtering through the summer trees.
To which that calm melody now merely saturates my ears with irony.
What a pitiful mess I have become, living a life without innocence.
A full moon on a chilly late summers night,
I had been consumed in my own insanity.
A blazing inferno of a darkening bloody pathos
as I slashed relentlessly at the black of night.
Never had I been so fiery and yet so frigid simultaneously;
If there was sound, I heard not of it, as all was a blur of red and black.
I only came to my senses when I saw it;
the thick oozing stream, trickling in the moonlight.
I stood erect in the full moon, unable to rip away my gaze from my stained hands
as droplets of sorrow fell from my cheeks to join the comforting river of warm crimson.
Paralysis; my entire being ice cold, but that of freeze-dry, for my skin still burned red within its frost
until I recognized my absence and loss of a once beautiful innocence,
to which my mind and spirit began to melt in the angering flames of an azure sea.
All had then imploded into a void within my chest as my mouth choked on syllables of sorrow.
The mourning groan of death and grief reverberated throughout the forest
as its melody shifted germane to the cruel fate of my guilt.
However there were two streams glistening in that midnight glow, so I was justified—right?
Justification no longer had any use to me; she was still dead, but
he was merely dead as well—both dead because of my mistakes.
But this could not have had justification anyways,
after examining the shear brutality of my rage.
Ninety-seven; that is,
the amount of stains—the amount of holes—the number of times—I stabbed him.
That was of course, the damage before I unconsciously discarded that wretched blade.
It had left a sound I will never forget, not one to be heard but one to feel resonate in my veins;
is it that of separation on a chopping board? No—more like that of a rock scraping a chalkboard?
That is still not quite right; it was something far more revolting in between; still it was murder.
A crunching slosh of slicing and scraping—as motion was occasionally interrupted by the impact of marrow.
A night of bloody pleasure; the demon inside me had finally won.
She was my heart and soul—she was my life,
and he took her away from me that night, in a flash of gun smoke and envy.
This however, wasn’t our intended fate, as Azrael resented my evasion.
In a final act of devotion—my love took my place in the cecity of fire.
All in that moment was of an andante, as though God Himself was so moved to have paused,
that He may witness the unthinkable from my own eyes; her full hearted smile.
That of unparalleled love and faith, she let evil shred the walls of her heart that it would not reach mine.
He had shot the heart she had given me and as she bled, the forest gave its respects in blissful silence.
After having destroyed my Heart however, he had also let collapse the mercy I had built up for so long.
Without a heart one could not have had feeling anymore; all had become numb as I returned the favor.
Though I am in doubt I will never forgive him, I know I will never forgive myself for that night.
In an instance I had become crippled by my own darkness and realized the cruel truth of my mind;
I had feared nothing but God until the night I met myself.
One necklace; that and memories are all I have left of that love,
but I will live on for her knowing she will always be with me in them.
In a clearing only we know, my love now rests on a blanket of lilies
besides a great oak, to which I haven’t returned since.
That night a beautiful young rose died in my arms
in a forest we knew well to be full of secrets.
Now merely another recollection, I lie on the forest’s floor, staring up
at the blue expanse through the tree canape as time moves forward.
As the melody begins to fade, one last verse rings in my ears;
Goodbye my love, I will wait for you here.