I can't quite make sense
of why the winter wind sings song of us
or why the darkest nights breathe
our air
can not the seasons tell
that summer has been long gone?
in quiet affliction you search for something
to occupy your mind
besides the tune of me
i burrow in blankets
sigh, roll over, sit up. because
in this moment i have become complacent
in knowing that grief is honest
your beauty is violence
and your roar is too loud
perhaps we have become but nothing
was it compromise
or was it fate
my heart is like a little house burning
with no love to put the fire out
perhaps we have become
but nothing
but certainly we were
once everything
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