It's got you on your knees,

the one you begged for.

Embers.

On embers you decide to walk

and what you care about

is not your burning feet

or how it trembles -

your heart, my heart.

Your heart is dying

in convulsions.

Pain is not the same as joy.

Yet we sometimes

put them in the same proportion.

You see right through their skin,

 in detail

and my vision's blurred. I'm still.

Ink

without a paper.

In the end, everything is paid

 and seen.

"After all" is what we say.

After all, we both are ashes

and skin is what they'll ever be.