It never was.

It never will be.

And yet the gardeners

Are out to kill me

With some strange need

To plant him in my mind,

To choke out the other

Flowers they find.

So I set sentries

At the gates of my dreams,

But the sentries are weak;

They let seeds through the seams.

The demons water them,

The dreams come,

And dreams are something

You can't run from.

So I burn down the garden

That grows in my mind

He could only grow if

Time could rewind.

But it can't,

And I won't.

My demons want him.

I don't.

I find myself wishing for a heavenly death

Myself as a martyr with one final breath

Names of power heavy on my mortal tongue

My own life a hymn from church pews sung

Or if not, grant me my own hellish ending

St Michael's sword my poor heart rending

Left to wallow by the gates of damnation

Knowing I never truly deserved a salvation

Shadows slumber as the sun goes down

A melancholy shadow besets the town

The creatures of the night make their way to the streets

As the sinners arise the saints fall into their sheets

Ignorance from the hardness of real life

Daytime people live without strife

The creatures of the night are left to sow

Nothing good comes from what the moonlight shadows grow

This is the way the world will live

Second thoughts are for the privileged

Shadows slumber no longer

The creatures of the night hunger