Dear Heart,
Withered Heart of decadence,
I shall name you Raslyn.
Filled with remorse, I know you hold your burdens well.
The ache I share, the vile sorrow.
Here, with its bittersweet succulence,
In which we crave, starving like carnal fiends.
To you, I bid my life Incarnate,
Surely, I need it no longer.
A toast to inclined heads wound in drapery,
Let the rufescent liquor run dry, as we remain parched.
I regret depriving you of the soothing elixir,
Should I have another chance, I would drink it up quickly.
Dazed and dreaming of ashen petals,
And the Captivating melody which makes me sway.

Dear Raslyn,
My tragically radiant Heart,
I fear the fate of you in coming years.
Destined for perplexing coincidence, where will you go?
Might I tuck you away beneath my rib,
Hide you from looming eyes, and slick tongues.
Or place you center, encased in glass,
So that all eyes may tear at the gentle flesh.
Hurt you, and harm you.
My already damaged Heart,
Raslyn.
Love, you bare too much.
Still, there is hope for diminishing consciousness.
Tears beyond the dim incandescence,
And the black pool to engulf the tarnished stage, pure and abundant.

Dear Beloved,
Raslyn, my bruising Heart.
With that sheet of ice that clings so tightly,
It pains the souls along the mist.
Is there no one good enough to give acceptance?
Loneliness: a plague worse than eternal black, than death.
The chilled breeze whispers, she is calling.
Beckoning for your distress unkind,
To steal the very breath you once caressed,
And cast all laments aside to the unbroken haze.
Would it be better to embrace the raven's wing?
In the midst of these alluring ballads,
Choking from the inhaled toxins, the bitter bane to save me.
But not you, adored Heart,
Raslyn.