Vespertine

Show me the cuts that he made,
In your wooden heart,
Like carvings in a tree.

When you were lost in him,
A forest full of grabbing hands,
Tearing at your shirt.

You were swallowing your tears then,
A river flowing down your throat,
To pool heavy in your lungs.

He didn't hide those scars,
Because he wanted you to know,
That he hated himself more than you ever could.

Your veins start to turn to stone,
Blue blood, red eyes,
Pale skin freckled by Winter sun.

He took your nakedness from you,
Surrounding your body in darkness,
Eyes closed, mouth open.

You learned not to cry before him,
Watering a miniature garden,
In the faint pre-dawn light.

He forced his way into you,
A raw peach broken,
In uneven, crooked pieces.

He blows you out,
And he leaves you as a smouldering candle,
In a basement room.

But how can he go on living,
As a noon-day shadow,
A vespertine in a land of angels?

I try to hold you gently,
To feed your returning flame without engulfing it,
But if my breath makes you shiver,
Please forgive me.