Imagine a boy whose heart you've broken.
Picture him there, crying, sulking.
Hands grasped around those fatal tokens.
That you had left, much like him, broken.
Now listen to his dying monologue.
For these words shall never again be spoken.
"It was here on this bed I lay,
Where you said all you need to say,
As you packed nearly all your things and ran away.
Leaving me there alone, that tragic day.
Left me kicking, screaming, crying, in a fray.
You left me in this never ending state of dismay,
When you left me that way.
Preaching to a newly understood god,
I don't know, just someday'
What more is there for me to say besides someday?
For you could not sooth this wounded beast at bay.
By simply saying,
'I will stay,
End this foolish disarray,
And continue that cold harpening music that we had once played.
Just to save you from sudden decay.
Someday I'll be your forever.
'Stop! Stop! Stop!'
I'll say. And,
'Would you do me one last favor please?
Before you come return for these last few things and leave,
Kick me while I'm on my knees,
Deny every last one of my final pleas,
And rip my heart from about your sleeve.
Would you do me one last favor please,
And grant this wish,
For a have scaffold through many a dark abyss
Of my sub conscious,
But still have gone a miss,
In search of that fatal kiss.
A kiss I had once wished to share with you.'
What more is there for me to do,
For you to do,
For us to do.
We are now dead!'
Just as he is dead.
Stuck in his own head,
Because of the words that you had left unsaid,
The love that you had left unfed.
He is now dead,
In his own head.
Copyright © Arthur Stansen