…of this old beautiful lie

I am spiralling
into darkness
my heart is breaking
my tears are falling
and I watch as a verse
rewrites itself
the words unfamiliar
ink bleeding
through the pages
of a thousand nights
sacred like scripture
a sacrificial offering

is this a trick
of the darkness?
created by the dust
and the shadows?
is it the ghost
of what I hoped you were?
there is still warmth
in the hollows
where my doubt sleeps
dripping in perfume
stolen from dreams
as I whisper your name
into the silence

your dark eyes
were like the hush
before a storm
and I filled in the blanks
with the colours
I wanted to see
I was tilting
towards obsession
ever searching
for the key to a door
that I knew
would never open

circling a lighthouse
built upon a phantom shore
always shining its light
but it where it was never
ever, safe to land
but this was my mirror
my myths
and my madness
do you know
how strange it is
to mourn a fiction
that you wrote yourself?

in the endless silence
of empty space
where my illusions
bloomed like flowers
I traced your outline
in the fog of morning
and waited
until the sunrise
burned it away
then I thanked the light
for extinguishing
the last burning embers
of this old, beautiful lie
© Ann Bagnall