Heal.

Read me,

Read me all those stories

Stitched onto your freckled skin,

With Threads

Drawn from the spoils

Of your admirers' insanity

And a needle

Dipped in a glass

Of the devil's reserved whiskey.

Sing my dear,

Sing to me all those melodies

Dripping from your burning eyes,

Falling drop by drop

Between the black and white keys

Of your mother's piano

And the melancholy she once composed

To teach you of sweet, lonely goodbyes.

Write to me

Write to me all those poems

That you etched on the maple floor

Lying down peacefully, defenseless

Beside the affectionately warm fireside

Which was fueled

By the guiltless desolation

Of love, a sweet tender love

That you once called, home.