Dull was the blade, That you forged in your blessed silences. Aching in the hands of your wasted seances, Grey is this shade. Broken was the quill, That your scrawled on your blessed partchment. Finally seeing what the charts meant, Now your soul is ill. Empty were the words, That you uttered under your bated breath. Leasing new life to your old health, Black is the ink in your cords. Actions cold like the deepest sea, That you take against your heart’s will. From the depths you pull back your kill, Everything is just as it is meant to be. … Love You Baby … 🖤