When the songs cried at the end of that day, she cried up along with them.
When the night whistled hello, his heart swam up with anticipation.
She left her that-day mask on the floor and snuck up into the sheets that failed to hold together the past
The sheets that bore stains like landmarks to why they had been deserted
He picked up his mask and smiled to his soul deep within,
You are still you, you are still true,
He said to himself
This is all for her
At clock of twelve, just between the days,
When it was legal to be reckless and not filled with thorns of guilt
He knocked on her door.
He had tip toed across his live mines and waded the field of her insecurities
He had packed with him only pretense and false illusion.
Which were exactly what she sought for
When that clocked struck twelve, they struck oblivion
Around the same time that the midyear rains came,
A mysterious cloud besought his presence and trailed his tracks
It dragged him across the land like a slave, chained to his master’s ship; his past
In the same instance that she left him, she felt her ribs begin to dig graves inside her
And as she traced her way through the hot deserts of life,
The heat kept burying her essence day by day.
So when his mirage played falsely in the distance, she felt life anew
She thought that their pain and regrets could be shared and bored equally
He thought she could help break him free.
She thought he would be the new life inside of her.
He thought she could make him forget
Instead they only rocked their boat together with the waves.
Heavy goodbyes were said at the end of time,
Strong wills kept behind tears of
Shame, Fury, Regret and Loath
The Perfect Strangers
Who had all sinned across each other’s bodies