Fingertips in the Dust

I see fingertips in the dust
From the last time I was suspended on this ledge.
This blood has burned deep streaks in me,
My scars throb with the heated drumming.
I hear the hissing songs of naked blades,
Like the screaming of hungry infants.
Shaking hands warn me to pull away,
Frustration & hate boiling beneath,
I try to trace the maps of simpler times.
Civilizations in the center,
Daemons & monsters pull at the edges.
With a double iris,
& Tangled soul,
I shake my fist – the world rattles.
Like broken marbles
I no longer roll smoothly.
With crumbled smile
I mourn the passing moments,
When I almost stole your heart,
Invited you into the fold,
Offered you a taste of Truth,
Doomed you to a future of questions
Packaged up something to steal.
I turn away.
My gifts would burn for centuries,
But no passing of the years
Would erase this pain.

Still –
I am grateful.