Scheherazade stay with me when I've nothing left to give, when my engine's running empty and I hate the way I live. Antigone abandoned me the day I wouldn't die, so Scheherazade stay with me, won't you teach me how to lie?
Scheherazade don't leave me here, there must be some escape, I caught you spinning shadows, watched as you forswore your fate. The truest of all falsehoods and the oldest of all tales: a girl can weave a grave-shroud that will walk her out the grave.
Scheherazade you taught me well, sharp tongue and empty hands, how to lose a world each evening, how to twist a crimson strand, past jewel caves and warnings, and things that run in threes 'til the ceiling's painted brightly and my lungs still know to breathe.
The bedroom's full of stories piled up against the wall and I'd drag them all down with me if I thought they'd break my fall. Scheherazade, you laughed, I think, when slipping from the pyre for no one loves an oracle, but all will trust a liar.

















