Note

Every night you wrote another line with a bloody broken bottle; and every day you wish it away. Why don't you pull the pin on that grenade, you coddle? With your head in your hands, a stoic last stand of a dying man...
I wanted to believe as I watched your world crumble in your hands. I wanted to believe as you raised your glass to your last stand. And I wanted to believe you would win the war in your head that I did not understand.
Every night the questions poured out of your wounded eyes. Damn dark things every day. You used to pray listen to the black raven sing. You wanted to believe as you were falling to your knees, struggling to stand, with your life in your hand. The sad last stand of a broken man.
The sound of you falling, I did not understand as the trembling heart of a man. Did not understand the sound of a trembling heart...