Words Of A Moth Drawn To Flame

It smelled of graphite and soap

It smelled of graphite and soap,
Yet the wallpaper was faded blue,
And lying among the empty cans of memory,
I found you.

The faucet was running and still you stayed seeing nothing,
I sat down beside you and quite loudly said nothing at all,

Through all the Aprils and Mays I've learned that this never stays,

But I do wonder what had made you fall.

What did you fail to forget?
What drives you to look for unreachable slumber of mind?
Perhaps it was a stranger you met,
Who said a nostalgic word.

Or perhaps it was wintery darkness and dread,
That woke up that spirits inside your head,

Though, I confess, never have I broken my heart,
I think this is what comes after,
Though it was not love that tore you apart,
That I know.

It was more like insanity slowly worming it's way to your bloodied throat,
So words spilled like the ribbon from your flower crown,
Falling ever gently into the muddy moat.

But no those we symptoms of a long past disease,
That like a python did your heart squeeze.

But my soul is now weary just like yours,
So I lie down too.