You had come to me,
an ardent sliver of dawn,
washing me in a passionate sunbeam.
It was orange, it was real,
It looked right at me and seared my soul,
It was vicious and untame,
It fed on your heart and bled my name.
I refused to whisper back,
splintering your smiling sunbeam,
into a million little
The tables turn now and I watch myself
trapeze, a circus monkey
building my own precious moonbeams
that no one wants.
They are beautiful,
liquid marble, beads of wanton wonder,
vessels of my whims.
I call aloud and sell my wares
to the grotesque night,
to the frolicking fireflies,
to owls and the bats,
to the sparkling body-less eyes.
And I watch as my beams shatter,
now mere icicles of glass,
splintering, melting, slipping,
in and out of a cursed existence.
Its a sordid tale you've read too often,
Tonight, you've got a prettier dawn to paint.