Ashen waters, too black of heart and soul, they creep;
Cross-legged, I wait.
These cracks and holes through which they seep;
Waters I meditate.
Your name is soaked in blackest hate;
Could I weather?
Ashen waters, they coerce me to berate;
Were we together?
My feet and hands, tied to this steely tether;
I face death alone.
Be it my own will, as you shot two birds of a feather;
You never did atone.
Cracks in the heart, of wood and stone;
My feet, now ash.
The ceilings above me creak and moan;
I do not fear the crash.
Creeping water, so calm, without a splash;
Death, I cannot wait.
Dismal sleep, whisk me swiftly from watered ash;
Escape me from fate.