You hold onto me as though any second I’d fade away into the storm

That knocks on the shaking walls and the pounds on doors

Like an old man gasping for his last breaths, 

You cry to me thoughts of sleep and murder 

And the more you purge these words of innocent sleep and innocent death 

Your tears grow larger and your eyes turn darker. 

And the tears that pour from your ocean eyes, 

Turns into black blood that falls onto my blade and bades you to keep screaming.

You. You are a new mother clinging to her bleeding child, 

As if the tighter you hold, and the more you squeeze and kiss the suffering babe,

The less blood will soak out of its small, limp body

And onto your redning hands and the cold bedroom floor

I am no more than the perception of a sickening mind

Listen to the old soothsayer choking in the back of your head

He begs you to not hold onto this figment of your guilt

But to cling to sanity!

For it is slowly dissipating away, 

The vines of discernment withering and rotting off the side of your skull. 

Soon all that will remain,  is a bony man rocking himself to sleep

In the black corner facing the room with the best bed, that still smells like the forced death.