Weary Not

Weary I am often seen, but weary I am not.
Instead inside my bones decay; my bones begin to rot.
I feel my spine begin to drain, my eyes to flood with tears.
I've not quite felt quite this alone in several passing years.

She smiles when she sees me, but then the smile turns.
She smiles kindly for my eyes, but then the bridge 's burned.
"You're not my friend," she kindly says, though I love her so.
"You're not my friend, and toward that end we shall never go."

'But why?' I want to ask it. But I, I never will
Because she has no answer, and has no answer still.
I tell her that I love her. I laud her pretty form.
I extend to her my beating heart; a hole from whence it's torn.

So back to Beauty I return and beg to know the end:
How do you love the girls around who ne'er'll be your friend?
The Smile answers back in cold and furtive tongue,
"You, my boy, are just a lad, and far too youthful, young."

Thus to Despair I find my way, and lay dead at his feet.
"Ho, there, what's this? Why do you die?" The Brow turns down to meet.
No words are left for my reply, just a single gurgled groan.
My flesh has fallen in a heap because I've lost all bone.

My wilted mass just will not move, nor is there reason to.
I see the blood from every vein into my stomach pool.
Within my mind I ask her to; I beg and plead in vain.
She is a tigress on the hunt. She's beauty, wild, tame.