Ten Thousand Suns - Spiral

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Each dead child coiled, a white serpent,
One at each little

Pitcher of milk, now empty.
She has folded

Them back into her body as petals
Of a rose close when the garden

Stiffens and odors bleed
From the sweet, deep throats of the night flower.

The moon has nothing to be sad about,
Staring from her hood of bone.

She is used to this sort of thing.
Her blacks crackle and drag.


Your loved ones are at peace
Rotting in the ground
Don’t talk of the deceased
As if they are around
Words of comfort are lies
No matter how much you believe
Despite what you may think
The dead never speak

You think you can plan for it
Vain certainty from your lips
‘Till the world takes them away
Leaves you with the space
You can’t fill up your days
Without wishing yourself away
“Can’t imagine what you’ve been through”
Until it happens to you

Your loved ones are at peace
Rotting in the ground
Don’t talk of the deceased
As if they are around
Words of comfort are lies
No matter how much you believe
Despite what you may think
The dead never speak

So send your condolences
And pray all that you can
Your sincerity makes me sick
You can’t bring back the dead
So presumptuous it hurts
Your good intentions make it worse
Hiding from the fact
That all life ends in black