This is the night I dread;
dark within me, empty without her.
How anxiously I await sleep,
to be within that world
where nothing exists;
no thoughts, no dreams, no memory,
of what was, or might have been,
no hope of what will never be;
to sleep eternally,
not ever to confront
another day without her.
Could I make a life within that world
of non-existence, perhaps on occasion,
to intrude on someone else’s dream?
This is the night I dread;
a night whose remembrance of me
should be drowned in drunkenness;
a night in which memories of me
should be cancelled
by what new sacrifice
offering himself upon her shrine.
How many times must she die this death?
There is no rebirth, only decay.
The altar is desecrated;
it is a consuming sepulcher,
not content with death,
but with dying.
This is the night I dread;
the night that awakens with
the tomorrow that should never be;
this is the night which persists,
the longest night that finds me
cast off the whitened altar,
prepared for the consummation
of another zealous feast;
sublime love devoured
by the insecurity of the here and now.
This is the night I dread;
waiting for that morning when
I will awake... again.
