You told me you had a dream of me burning, and that you woke up with laughter dancing hot on your tongue; your version of a sonnet. Proof, you said, of how much you love me- how you can't breathe without me. But you're still breathing. You're still breathing, and i'm still writing. Don't talk to me about liars. Don't you ever talk to me about liars, you fucking snake because I'm still writing. And where are you? Whose death are you imagining now?

"Your name is nothing but a forgotten note in his memory." An ugly, broken chord. I'm rising up all around you, but you're not sinking into me. You're not sinking into me, because you've disappeared. Left me empty all over again. But I still answer when you call and I couldn't, couldn't ever hit the ground running harder

because I still pray that I'm burning in your dreams.
Burning to ashes, and ashes, and ashes.