You cleaved me open

And left my sun-bleached ribs

Scattered

Across the shores of our youth.

There, by the sea,

I gathered sea glass with which to build my home –

And every glittering, skittering ray of light

Was a reflection of the darkness I bore within.

I built the foundation on an eon’s worth of driftwood,

Claiming the detritus of long-ago civilizations as my own,

Yet I am still waiting

For the day you’ll come storming back in

And set fire to my bone-dry flesh and blood home.

I tried you tell you;

I spoke unto you,

“My heart is not made of stone,”

But all you ever wanted

Was to sit on that blood-red throne.