42

I have missed you
Specially at three amidst the night
the saint-proverbial devil's time,
Hayden's mourning call
for morbid loud rhymes.

It's been awhile,
since you'd call me drunk to cry and fight.
as It was the closest to a warm alluring light
safer than your self-exile.

You painted the rooms of hell
with your own blood and nightmares,
embellished torture and madness,
collecting faces once others held.

Lived a dozen lives of the ones you heedfully pick,
rapidly consuming the wick
of your now shortened candle
unearthed false memories, shaped them in a liquid anvil.

Tingeing fantastic reveries,
but sad and grim once more
no matter the color of the hues it wore,
He sought eternal miseries, and liquor.

Captive in a tesseract
does love travel through dimensions?
You had only felt time's creations
on the smile of the chessire cat.

You painted the rooms of hell
with your own blood and nightmares,
did not hid behind the battlements
murdered hope and unuttered farewells

Trapped in Hamlet's prose
He stands enthusiastic
devoutly to be wish'd. A cameo
in his own requiem of silence