Work Text:
When bored with staking my own kind
Or downing shots, or fending off the Bot,
When I can't bear to look at Dawn, or find
A reason to go on. Then what
I do is come up here. It never helps.
I should know that by now. I should
Just scarper, leave the witches, leave the whelp--
But Dawn is still a promise to make good.
So I come up here, lean against the stone,
Talk longer than she'd listen, when she heard.
Talk stupid stuff, sestinas and high-flown
Declarations; it's all words, words, words.
Sometimes I fall asleep, till almost dawn, and then
I stand up from her grave, I rise again.