A new cycle. The word Martyr means Witness.
I held my eyes closed on this warm summer day
As I let thoughts release into the air through a cracked voice that swayed
All because I didn’t know what to say
I didn’t know what to do when you told me you didn’t exist
That for seven years my tormented heart leapt for joy at the thought of my dead lover, alive once more
Now tears stain the wooden floor
I am sitting in a room debating life and all I must do
And Who I am.
Who am I?
I am the man who sits and debates what life is, and can be
I hate everything and everyone love quite absolutely
And so I run headfirst into many multicolored walls
Trying to peer through the goddamn keyhole of the door marked “Living”.
I believe in everyone else, but with myself I fear the dark
The shadows of my undecided mind
I used to believe that time was endless
That I was immortal, as I was swinging songs of fury that burned into my life and embraced my heart
Those tapers I now fear are burning thin flames
All part of a sweeping crescendo to tear me apart.
Show me passion for love and song
Send me hope and guide me through the maelstrom
Read my work to see my reality
Remember not my rage but my fears
For my words are my truth and it is my only truth
When I sleep I remember the girl I dreamed of being abused by lovers
Hips bruised by an unwelcome conquest
A crying burning heart, a scene of murder before God
She lights burning incense which calms her
And looks at the Martyr I have become
Smiling through bloody raindrops that never seem to cease from their purple lids.
The exposure of her self-claimed hideous heretic heart before me eats through her corroded self confidence, and she cries in my arms.
After five seconds of comforting her sorrow
I awaken as a Martyr waiting for tomorrow
As my heart drifts further and further away
I remember only the girl who never knew my name.
In hopes I would meet her
So I could be her solace and she could ease my pain.