Untitled no. 2

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I cry in folds the canvas of things that happened and those that never did,
For he shatters in silence inside someone else’s house.
Feelings keep swallowing him whole,
Forgetting why he was here, forgetting himself.
Seeking the gold beneath his feet and the gold beneath his lashes,
Long washed away by rain,
He births me feathers and ties red threads around my ankles,
Not understanding why he refuses that I fly, that I die in his memory,
That I succumb, absorbed by my own love.
He doesn't want me, yet he keeps me in his grasp,
As if wanting to give me his final breath,
As if hoping I’d wear another face
And he'd hold another soul in his hands.
Tonight, I am torn by internal funerals,
Having to mourn something that never was.
I'm ready to pack my bags, to buy my one way ticket,
To finally feel my chest collapse.
The moon floats too, in her eternal sigh,
So I write again, unable to arrive.
The gate is locked again, as I wear the cloak of the guilty,
Longing to escape this cry and return to what I once was.
I could have kept quiet and pretend to forget it all,
To fall asleep holding the blank pages in free fall,
To dream of what has long since passed,
With his portrait pulsing beneath my fingers,
To get slashed by the ultimate sword, only to return,
To rise, and once again whisper his name in absolute…