The Torch

Your torch is on the door
swung shut
hid well
from the dark breath you force me to dwell beneath

swelling voices long quelled
still resonate in the halls
long left vacant
but chilling
with victims in the wind
testifying to each killing

every heartless brick
every blind piece of stone
every echo of the steps
softly spells
"you're alone"

you're haunted by my presence
but you won't give up the ghost
you're asking me to creep here
all the times I hurt the most
and it kills

if you'd remove my image,
hang his head inside the frame,
kiss it every night,
you might find something still burning
and I can take up ashes
while your torch flickers in and out
I see the dead in flashes
my picture in its story

but you talk like it's still living

your hateful voice is arrogant
your loving voice a drone
I hope your torch is warming

...I'm cold and all alone