by Occult Fan

It hurts not to die

but to lose the one you love

there is no balm for this burn

no salve for this suture-seeking schism

I hold hope yet yet

for my Juliette Marionette

my albigensian whore

my Scorched Earth Redeemer

cannot conceive nor comprehend

This Nathan Lee doth wrote your end

but no one will see

it and I am to hear it but

yet I still hang close on the edge

of the staircase moonway right up the everpath now

beautiful summer hands

kiss my head and stretch my heart strings

she kisses me and all I can hear are the sounds of the ocean swinging