there is no nobility in suffering,
no flowers will grow through the
scorched earth of a barren heart
and my heart will not stay barren,
do you hear me?
i was made to love and
be loved in turn
and if the way that i love
means i am damned,
well then so be it
because my soul sleeps most
soundly with the devil,
and i like it that way
just fine
but there are no curling tongues
of flame here,
no shame in the way you’ll
take my hand so tenderly,
and hold me oh so close
and i am not prometheus
in this story,
there is no eagle to feast
upon my liver,
no dark sky to gaze down upon
me from so far away
nay, my love, there is
only the way your name feels
in my mouth and on my tongue,
and how tightly i am
going to hold your hand