Muse.

Blood laps at my feet,

A squandered soul on a sanguine shore.

Once, you appeared to me,

Called to me and whispered my name.

Your face mirrors my reflection,

A condensation of me-you-him:

An abstract sketch of a singular tragedy.

Plunging my hand beneath the blood, I clutch at the shore and walk owards the

Blinding sun to drown in the denial of sight, once more.