That Puddle of Blood and Brains

I picked up that puddle of blood and brains you left on the floor, and shaped it into the man you see before you. Oh my, look at these skeleton hands on a body of life. Look at your body, your face. Wonder for me what’s happened to us, to us all really, and be sure to let me know once you’ve given our sickness a name. Maybe it has one already. Maybe I already knew it. Maybe I didn’t know it until I met you. You probably gave it to me, like everything else that you took away. My life used to be my own, you know. But like a bird in the rain, I’m only trying to find my way with sopping wings. I’m flying for the winter. I’m flying anywhere. I’d like to take you with me, but I just can’t anymore. There are only so many places lovers can travel, and this abyss surely ain’t one of them. I’d kiss once, this last time, but your face is rot in the earth, fodder for the worms, a scene from my nightmare under the cold sea of sleep. Don’t ask me why anymore, I’m not sure I can keep avoiding the answer. There is no answer, lover. There are none. And, you know, there never were. There is no wisdom here, only the truth. It’s the only promise I can make anymore. Like a bullet, like a love letter, let these words ride. And do me a favor, don’t read too much into them. That will only hurt worse. So I’ll ride it like a free man, the wave this story propels us upon, on into the deep, the well of your once loving soul and the dark of the truth so awful you’d disown me if only you had the chance.