V. Vows in a Vault of Velvet

The altar is draped in a heavy, red gloom, A wedding of shadows inside of a tomb. The priest is a specter with fingers of glass, Who watches the seasons of suffering pass. I kneel on the velvet, so crimson and deep, Where the secrets of centuries finally sleep.

"I take thee," I whisper, but who is the 'thee'? A mirror? A phantom? The ghost of the sea? The rings are of iron, and jagged, and cold, With stories of sorrow that haven't been told. They bite at the finger, they drink from the vein, A marriage of madness, a union of pain.

The candles are black and they burn with a hiss, Like the ghost of a memory, the ghost of a kiss. The walls are all padded with fabric and dust, And the heart in my chest is a piston of rust. The witnesses stand in a motionless row, With faces of wax and with nothing to show.

“Forever,” the vault seems to echo and sigh, Underneath a ceiling that mimics the sky. But the stars are just needles, and the moon is a lie, And we are the lovers who never can die. You’ll wake in the velvet, you’ll sleep in the red, With the weight of the vows that were made by the dead.