The Siren's Funeral Lament

You called me your angel,
but you were mistaken.
I am the PhoenixRaven,

with wings of midnight blue
and sunset. I hover
above you, wings ablur,
as you drown in the ocean.

I really do want to save you,
but you refuse to take my hand.
Pity twists at my heart,
until you yell in agony

(I want to eat a bullet).
Well, honey, I didn't bring a gun
to save you from your conscience.
Oh, how I tried, I tried, but we're already dead.

No raindrops fall from these eyes,
since the ocean's salty tears
surround you. I have nothing
left to give you, but to sing your funeral lament.

As you sink down deeper,
darkness tears a hole,
and worms it's way down.

Twisted bitch, does my song
keep you up at night?
My voice isn't like an angel's,
it is a siren's haunting howl.

It's been a month,
and the withdrawals
have ceased. I no
longer shake at night
without your warm embrace.

I fall into the ocean,
and let the soothing, ice cold
waves push me towards

shore. I'm at peace,
even through the Rip tide
pulls your corpse out to sea.

I walk along the shoreline,
a nymph with legs;
the seaweed entwines with my curls.
I pick up a seashell to cast it
into the water, while my heart turns to stone.