Before birth
Before time
Before the matter in my body
remembers being created

A gift was given to me of
a crystal spider
and a silver quill

Tools for crafting the perfect poem
Out of the perfect pain

With them I shall pen a story of gorgeous misery
That will twist the metal of my soul into platinum petals
And with fine, spun glass,
I will weave them into a flower

Kneeling, I will offer it to you
In exchange for forever

For this is not my gift
And this is not a vision eternal

For here the stories have endings
And you are my perfect pain

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