It is the beginning of the end 

of the beginning; my soul is held 

and bound; torn, that it will mend. 

 Your eyes are dark, and hungry. 

I stare at you. I know full well 

that this is the beginning of the end. 

 My wrists. You pin and pull 

on strings that bind a dying heart. 

My soul is held that it will mend. 

 I feel your need, a sucking mouth 

that beckons like the void; 

it is the beginning of the end 

 as, twisted like rope, we fall. Desire is dark, 

sharp as steel; compelling as fate. 

My soul is torn - but it will mend. 

 This hunger for life. Giving no release 

unless we lose ourselves – oh, hold! 

It is the beginning of the end. 

My soul is torn that it will mend.