Each wound is an epitaph of my monoliths,
Each fleck of skin untouched is yet to be broken,
I’ve left it too long to glide back to redemption;
I’ve left it too long to redeem myself at all.
My brothers, my sisters, my lovers, my friends,
No stars will struggle through the clouds for me.
No fireflies gather, no heartbeats inside.
Should I remember what love feels like at all?
A score of birds surround me, the feathers kiss the night,
My brothers in arms around me, holding me from the world
Of danger and demons, of pestilence and fright,
Of love and sorrow, these melancholy delights.