Would that a kiss would wake you. Would that your dreams weren't a drowning all their own. The sickness slipped into your pierced flesh, a tickle from a thorn, mad whisperings in the blood. Then this enduring stillness, a breath held forever inside a heart of smoke and glass. Then this twilight always just when the sun is about to go out. These endless ages, this obdurate idea of being. Far away however much I wander. Only ever touched by thought and light. Surely a kiss could not hurt.
I have watched the walls fall down. I have seen the sky collide with the sea. The bullets fall blameless, the symptom of a riven soul. The facts all suddenly contention, nothing melting so slowly as a notion. Words cling and gush, every cause and claim has changed. The hours stretch and the year eludes. One day all skies will be gray. Now the sun is setting, blue shadows stick and push. Now this time is ending, stilled to a beat of your heart.
Always another season lays waiting. Always the blood stalks this dream. The threat of sleep unending in these strangely wakened days. It isn't the spell so much as the odd conviction that we were all here before. A beauty so unyielding it bruises the mind, clinging as the sparks grow dim. A mistake so utter that I never could learn I was wrong. Endurance itself the proof, counting on and on. That kiss becomes the poison it longed to overcome.