I want to make you rainbows
With these two hands;
Deal your cards myself and
Drink your tears with my own lips-
How dark could this sky seem
If in it bathed a thousand newborn stars?

(You are my refined torture,
My exquisite pain;
I, your cross to bear,
Your secret to keep)

Among these thorns the thought is born:
That it might break me to rescue you
From yourself. An act of piracy that none
Save you would force me to commit. And it is
The promise of your release and my
Destruction; your absolution and my
Renewal, that lies upon me when I wake.