I'm afraid my heels will never move fast enough,

And all the miles will burn into my soles,

Engraving its presence as you did on my soul.

What's the point of all the running,

When you Lord it all from the centre, 

The orchestrator and the ender,

Bending my mind to your will,

Till its limbs are tender.

What good is my leaving,

When like a circle, I'm drawn,

To the genesis of it all, 

Doomed to relive the inception, 

With nightmares from the end. 

I grew flowers on the grave I buried our love,

The dark soil bloomed bright petals that I called,

Icarus because they burned,

At the first glimpse of dawn.

And when it all ends,

Know that I gave it my best,

Because there are only so many wounds,

My lowly heart can mend.