Epitaph

I’ll speak of my woes as I scrawl letters on a page construed by time.
The words drooling from my flesh-filled tongue are purely noise.
My cries are bold and death in my world is numerous.
That’s good because I’m fine,
I’m the only one I care about.
When the two hearts became one both would stop beating.
Gnaw the tongue from it’s roots and let the words leave with it.
One more fierce decree to resurrect my headache and my heartache.
Once so colourful and once so brave now it’s only blacks and whites and grays.
Let the picture perfect image burn and the paint is cooking from the walls and I’m inside.