There are some joys, still,Like dyed leaves drifting on wind,And a cat purring.
I hope she's happy,In whatever hell she's in,Damnably cozy. One day he'll recall,That I went to hell and back,While he rots in place.
A friend in need is,Still a friend indeed,And I need a friend.
Finger-tracing names,On the small of your arched back,Our phantom tattoo.
My pen's ink runs dry,A sentence left unfinished,But that is fine too.
I might fly away,Catch the wind and simply soar,If not for this string.