I told them I was Superman

I saw your face, a mask of death,
Thrown across your rotting soul like a threadbare cloak
Flimsy piece of denial, of deception, defiant but empty charisma
Thought that you were gone already, crushed, broken
Maybe there's nothing left at all, said my thoughts in dispair
Ghosts howling outside of empty windows, crying
Aloneness and graves and shadows, weight above resistence
A silent agony of overtaking filth, a dreadful conclusion
The wind trying to close the book on your tragic chapter

I turn around, notice wine spills, written in the charred stillness
A single crimson tear, falling so fragile, infinitely breakable, infinetly unbroken
Macabre whiteness of your face unchanging, no twinge of life
This single drop, a mirror, reflecting your soul, still alive, still pleading
Tired flicker, barely perceptible, proclaiming your heart's persistent beating
Bending not to breaking, bleeding not to death, not yet
The Hand has spelled it out upon the silent wall, a decree
That I be your cloud, though so small, such insecurities, to rain Life upon your head
I'm incapable, my hand's too small, the King affirms it
The silent hill cries to the darkness with the only question
"My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken me"

You are the answer