With rivers of tears and trickles of sweat
that molded my jewels and crown,
they gleam as tides of sorrow
wash away remnants of pain I had,
and swept me with the lustre of ice,
as it envelops me of an urge so hollow-
so numb.
Yet with the sweet tang of your words,
their scents embroidered with lace,
the lace with its fabric of a texture-
a texture of softness, of familiar felt
so different from the golden velvet that
enclasped my cloak and held my crown.
And as their lace had hugged my figure,
there it drenched me in the oceans I burnt,
broke the walls I had built myself upon.
Tearing the golden velvet from my heart,
and flooding it with the familiar urge,
the common bursts of light and colour
I had rid myself of as time swept by.
This anchor you have bestowed on me,
this weight you draped upon me,
now burnt away the last of what I was,
and engulfed me back into the ocean I tried to burn,
the hunger I used to quench,
the envy I hoped to devour.
When will my desire be fulfilled,
where my promise shall be tied,
upon the delicate threads I laced on myself
to mark the end to my failure?