By: Nathan Hill
Cold and numb I stand alone,
as onyx cuts my feet.
Left to scale this barren scape,
that offers no retreat.
You lured me here with promises,
of love both lush and green.
But all you gave was glassy stone,
pitch black with deadly sheen.
Now I know your wicked smile,
when asked about this place.
It mocks with every single step,
I try now to retrace.
As I seek my way from here,
I carve the blackest stone.
It helps to stifle all the rage,
of being left alone.
At least it wasn’t all a waste,
one gift as I depart.
This single slender onyx blade,
it’s sheath will be your heart.