Graveyard of Reveries

false prophet

(To Mary)

It is as if you're warming yourself by the fireplace after hours of exposure from winter's spikes outside your door,

If you have held my hand as I soothe you with my lullabies. I caress your head and tell you, "It'll be alright,"

I say with utmost consolation, because soon enough the winter will melt into spring and our skin will be warm again.

(To Bonnie)

At midnight when I wonder why my eyelids refuse to yield in slumber, is because I am meant to receive a message from you,

Where you say it is there again - that monster taking the shape of the worst parts of yourself,

Shrouding your room in darkness. And so I tell you to close your eyes, feel my hand in yours, and turn on the light together.

(To Lacy)

The next day, we meet up at the park and sit in one of the benches, admiring the air soaked in broad daylight;

And yet, the cloud above your head pours down raindrops that weigh a ton, saturating your clothes in gray.

As wild as the wind, I blow it all away, and wipe your tears. You drown in joyousness and gratefulness at my existence,

It is like I am graced by a god - a prophet. I only smile because I do not want to crush such sentimentality, and you deserve to have your prayers heard.

(To Mary)

In my seasons of harsh winter, I cannot, do not, or will not for once attempt to ignite my fireplace. Besides, I've given them my firewood.

I condition myself that only one layer of thin blanket can cease my body from shivering and color my lips blue,

With time, I might be invincible enough to withstand the winter's deathly prickles without quietly begging for a tiny flicker of fire.

(To Bonnie)

At midnight, I sense my own personal demon, slowly coiling its hand around my throat,

Just as my breathing strains, you message me and I am able to make it disappear - albeit momentarily

But I do not mind because we need to turn on your lights and perhaps I might be able to sleep soundly now despite my room remaining dark.

(To Lacy)

After we hugged at the park, we head towards our favorite ice cream parlor, my treat. I got you your favorite flavor which is strawberry,

And I grab vanilla, both decorated with sprinkles. I wish to say we mutually have a rainbow above our heads now,

I do say it, but I wish I had meant it. But I love you and desire for nothing more than a smile on your face because we're eating ice cream.

I am but graced by a god - a false prophet. I do not want to crush such sentimentality, and you deserve to have your prayers heard; if not by a god, then by me, even if shielded with fraudulence.


So they sing their prayers while I feign I have none.