So, this is the fate of royalty,
every balcony of faith a morbid fascination,
the tedious suicide of monarchs.
We indulge ourselves in such exquisite pain of endings,
only to reacquaint ourselves with the beginning.
Can't you see I treasure you?
you're company, a humiliating purge of necessity,
Feel the final caress of my quiet pride:
I never needed you to feel for me as I do for you,
my last redemption.
You covet my confessions like a child, a torture unmatched
and I miss older days with unspeakable honesty,
but desperate retreat to a ghost of innocence only reveres the present.
Sometimes, in silence, I'm convinced,
like a diving dove, saddened by her own hollow bones,
and yet...conviction remains a plot,
a blueprint of guilt and repression
disguised in a carelessness that strangles my chest.
Boy, you are nearly another lesson,
preparation for a borrowed exit that I will inherit,
it's no longer my choice, but a tangible expiration.
True to your conceit,
attractive and brazen,
you are the lace of valleys, braising the tundras of my safety
and your poison is sweet, but poison still.
Stay a little longer, friend, reality,
I'm only going to lose you once.