Ian Petch Poet Lyric

The First Death

Publish every fear in hopes of being saved
Pretend that you are falling when others are erased
Gather up your sources, tell them to remind
Send along the signal and make sure you are inside

Hand over the remainder of the anger you have stored
Let it come back at you so that you’re not ignored
Tend to the collision with bandages you stole
Then pretend your heart is leaking through the holes

Such a perfect symbol of what you want to be
Such a desperate monster beneath what you can see
Such an imitation of a life you want to know
Just take a look inside and you’ll see what you’ve bestowed

Further through the mirror you learn to touch your face
The golden stone is crying, bitter to the taste
Further past the shadow of the things you’ve done
The little child that touched you is crying for the sun

Publish all your winters in hopes of being saved
Remember you’re the witness, not the name upon the grave
Forget all the people that knew what you once were
But now that you can see it, you see them everywhere

Hand over the remainder of your frozen heart
Hope it comes around and tells you who you are
Tend to introspection with reasons to remain
Then attend your self-deception with roses on your grave

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