Losing is winning

This milky twilight balances on the border between night and day, so softly like a dove in mid-flight, she scorns at the young girls, the beautiful girls. This serene mix of familiar hues and dusty photographs consequently makes me shiver in disgust of myself and my yearning for an arm around my shoulder. My home, king, my puppeteer all torn into pieces with the letters and old shopping lists that still carried my mother's scent. All that he has ever crushed has been resurrected and crucified on a broken cross covered in wine glasses and ash. And, if I lie tonight, rip me and taunt me like the Devil I appear as. Let the wiry crowns lift into the air, this is all for a fake-happy new year, this is all for you. I can see the worried eyes from a distance, and the undone muscles of the boys who let themselves become one with the ever-changing earth. I can sense dead skin from miles and smoke stacks, matches, Gypsies. I can taste fear on his lips, because with him, I can taste myself. I let her let go of the myth we call Childhood. The sense of family reunions and rules are sticking to my bones, rotting my flesh and destroying my vision of true love and the definition of it. To walk in elegance and reign on the children like they are only puddles of bones and blood, we all want this, we all want to be someone. Can you just grab a needle and brand yourself with the Devil's fingerprint? I drank the Devil's water and kissed his wounds, he watched me dance for the money they threw, and he let me caress the edge of Night on the thin layer of milky twilight.

He watched over me on his throne,
He watched over me on his throne.