The Holy Hurt Of It All

The tired wind.
This cold.
A silent scream from under my throat.
The tongue does not travel.
The wind does not ease.

The careful pain.
This hurt.
A lungful of anger, chatter the teeth.
The bite doesn't cut enough.
The pain has been spent.

All of my mirrors no longer reflect
In the dripping ink of night
And the fear is welcome
In this light of mine.

I will see you there
Behind the thin veil
Where our souls scream
Their final breath
And the laughter comes
Ripping through like the
Slow hand of Death.

It is not enough to lose Faith,
But to drown in it.
A perfect end to
Something that never began.

Our bodies
Together
Mixing like
Despair.

Our bodies
Blending
In the swirling mass
Above it all,
Tumbling down
Through the
Dripping Thick.

Our smiles,
All that is left to
Be seen
Through the Cosmic
Filth
Which we Swim.

This is how it
Feels
When the wicked
Come tumbling
And the Angels
Spit, laughing.

Our hands tangled
Together
In this perfect
Moment.
And the smile
Does not ease.