I took mine away.
Whilst your bosoms perched on the edge of self oblivion yet never faltered
Their undisputed steps.
You wrote the eulogies, but not a tribute in my name
As I broke from contribution and maturity to decorate my neck with a noose which clung
To my dyed and calloused hair;
Hanging on stark wood -
Looked upon by stark hearts
Although I sang to yours alone
Who retained your answer?
I want- No, it's necessary for me to know:
That if not for some sort of material threaded through your lips,
Or a Lover's vain and infant cherub hands covering your ears
That could possibly deprive you from speech or at least theknowledge of my need;
Couldn't you've seen with your adolescent eyes, my body swinging?
You held the knife of salvation but insisted on curing yourself.
You wrote eulogies but not one tribute in my name.
How contradicting, that I might want a love note while I'm hanging.