my time counts with falling leaves...

my grave is sealed and pushed down between the tangled roots, heavy stones guarding my sleep, sitting on my chest, cold angels among the whispering meadows.

my voice is trapped in my throat, replaced with dust and soil. Wind wails over the tombstone, singing distorted hymns to my lack of choice.

I was hunted and pierced with wooden stakes, droplets of blood on my pale lips, dripping down, down my never-ending lifeline.

you forgot about me, when my eyelids shut forever - an eternity without gleaming darkness, eons without touch of moonlight. you forgot me, because it was easier - the memory too heavy to carry, the glittering splinters of hatred and love biting too deep under your nails.

I am covered with vermilion. With sunny yellows, sun licks my angel guardians, rain corrodes the mossy stones. seasons pass, always the same; lush, emerald spring, exuberant summer, silent autumn - touched with ruddy spots, a frozen winter, trapped in time.

you get older. years eat your doubt, the splinters dig deeper, slowly entering your veins, to travel to your heart and free it from its shackles, heavy iron binds.

and one day... you go on my grave.

we were one, dancing to the same melody, the enchanted sound of the beating pulse. drawing the same pleasure from cruel morns and delightful twilights. burying our fingers in earth and pulling out the heart of the gods.

we are one still.

and I wait. I do not care about passing years, as I am an immortal creature. ageless and unmoved by time, ready to fill your veins with liquid fire... again.

take the sun from my chest.

kiss my pulsing wrists.

silence the loud bells in the cathedral of my imprisonment...

... and l i v e .

too late is not a word that ever bound me.