journey through

Graveyard My heart is a graveyard, and oh your voice is the dirge. Bring your flowers everyone, and decorate this old stone. Come with thy solemn songs and torture me again. My flesh was too tender and could not take the scratches. My soul was too weak to handle being alone, but lies, isn’t that what love is made of? I cannot escape this trap. I cannot run away from this pain, for she has me, like death has man. They are my masters now, the realms of sorrow and the kingdoms of gloom. You convinced me that you meant no harm and peace we brokered, but with a dagger in your hand. I watched in disbelief, as my tormenter picked a whip and spread me on my stomach. I winced as the whiskers burnt my flesh. I flinched through every stroke but I did not say. I cherished this pain, for love is never really a bed of roses, but that shroud of thorns. Oh you asked me to read your eulogy when you died, but you were writing mine all the while. Hold my head as I address the executioner. Hold me steady...