• Your heart is a verb.
    It shakes and makes me lighter.
    Hear it pound faster,
    Feel it thump harder,
    See my chest go in and out,
    Taste the blood it spits out.
    You’re scared to touch haunt of the hub where my passion is born,
    So you stand back and let your eyes feel your spirit taste it fading away,
    Until what remains are the same remnants as Jimmie Hoffa’s body in Michigan.
    I’ll leave a little something that you can find.
    You’ll be like a child in a graveyard on an Easter egg hunt.
    That comes upon a shank sticking out of the head of a seraph
    The more you pull it out, the more it comes to life,
    The more you hear it whisper, “Thou hath entered the darkness yet thy light still shines.”
    The ashen feathers of splendor begin to mask your body like the façade that covers your soul.
    The more your innocence is wrapped, the darker the seraph gets,
    The more you start to burn on the inside,
    And the more Ames will be forced to sit back and watch her love get taken away.
    You’ll try to hide your mistakes, but I’ll find them.
    I’ll find those beautiful faults of yours and light a white fire using you as my ammunition.
    I’ll use that flame to paint my love for you in a way you can understand,
    “Populus qui ambulabat in tenebris, vidut lucem magnam.”
    Tears flow from the headstones and those tears revamp into a purple haze
    Floating in the place of where your heart used to be.