The dream I thought would become my fantasy
Has weakened with age of a meadowed infirmary
And so my past paints an ocean with crimson
How will I escape this place again?
As I lie in the bed of roses and vines
The thorns grip me and pull me into red wine
Swimming around me as I drown out of reach
If only you could learn to be happy without me
Don't waste each precious breath struggling for my hand
Let life slip down your throat and I'll leave a smile where I stand
Further and further I'm dragged down
If one doesn't survive, both of us drown
I reach for your hand, please feel my fingertips through the black
Feel me to leave this tombstone without names written in the plaque
But I grab hold of nothing but crimson
Blinding me and holding my hand again
The imagery of death is erased from my eyes
Until he comes again to try and reap my life
I made a promise the last time, and so I run
To the arms where my mistakes may be undone
A place of love and pesticide is where my body lays
With a lover's heart in my hands for the rest of days
Cradled in arms in a rose garden infirmary
Is this the dream that will become my fantasy?
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Wolf's Poetry
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