Asphyxiate on Words I Would Say.

We held hands on the last night on earth, 
And our mouths filled with dust. 
We kissed in the fields and under trees,
screaming like dogs, 
bleeding dark into the leaves.
It was empty on the edge of town 
but we knew everyone floated
along the bottom of the river.
So we walked through the waste 
where the road curved into the sea
and the shattered seasons lay,
and the bitter smell of burning 
was on you like a disease.
In our cancer of passion you said, 
"Death is a midnight runner."
The sky had come crashing down like the news of an intimate suicide.
We picked up the shards 
and formed them into shapes of stars 
that wore like an antique wedding dress.
The echoes of the past broke the hearts of the unborn
as the ferris wheel silently slowed to a stop.
The few insects skittered away 
in hopes of a better pastime.
I kissed you at the apex of the maelstrom 
and asked if you would accompany me in a quick fall,
but you made me realize 
that my ticket wasn't good for two.
I rode alone.
You said, 
"The cinders are falling like snow."
There is poetry in despair, 
and we sang with unrivaled beauty,
bitter elegies of savagery and eloquence.
Of blue and grey.
Strange, 
we ran down desperate streets 
and carved our names in the flesh of the city.
The sun was stagnated 
somewhere beyond the rim of the horizon
and the darkness is a mystery 
of curves and lines.
Still, we lay under the emptiness 
and drifted slowly outward,
and somewhere in the wilderness 
we found salvation 
scratched into the earth like a message.