A lonely cry,

A teary goodbye

Such faded talents rot along savage wire,

Peeling plaster, cracked tile, a house in retire.

Oh, how this day was not supposed to end like this!

 

A million eyes gaped at the mist,

Red red fangs for a black black heart,

The masses must’ve already read this part--

Clouds scroll past this golden moon,

Why did it have to leave so soon?

 

The raven stayed silent atop its perch,

Preventing this noble writer’s quenched thirst,

But the wind mimics the sirens,

And the cold finishes a supply run--

Yet a simple meal is meant as my fee;

How can this agony set me free?

 

Rivers have caked beds, and

The serpents dress in red.

Damage these pillars to you heart’s content,

But beware the season’ laments.

Orange grow they sky,

While the sea gave up its lullabies;

Light grew into time,

Yet here we lay--still in the grime.

 

Slitted eyes gape at the pearly gates,

Always betting on their wait.

A fantastical world with color and joy

Lies past this veil; almost destroyed.

 

Songs of springtime fade;

Rusted, in pieces, by the glades.

A tree once grew beside my house,

Fire left its mark, quiet as a mouse,

Greenery has left my life

It seems, out of spite.

 

Still I must peel back this rotted flesh,

The rats will take care of the rest.

They say I don’t make sense,

That my words are merely a vain wish.

Mortal hands are given too much credit,

It is not to them that I am indebted.

 

Supposedly, talent cannot be paid,

But that’s not what the stories say.

Counting stars seems more productive,

If it only weren’t as seductive.

 

Coffee mugs littered my floor,

Except when my mother comes through the door.

All I want is peace of mind.

But, that can never really be mine.

 

It’s selfish to think myself so important,

But really,

It’s I who am hunted.

 

No one sees and no one cares--

I might as well set off a flare.

 

Daring, am I, to be so bold?

Nonsense! Only when the ink grows cold.

Kings have prospered from the fruit of my hands,

No longer will I play that band.

 

Loneliness has become my only friend

My strangeness, no one else can stand.

 

I tried picking roses from the grave,

They grew inside my lungs, pricking if I ever misbehaved.

Calling a witch to prune them,

She merely said, “Succumb”

“Come in out of the darkness”

She opened her ribs and called herself heartless.

“Nay,” I said.

“If that were true, we’d both be dead”

 

Have we saved each other?

No, we spared one another.

Sometimes I see that witch in fires,

And hear her in the choirs.

I merely look and feel a thorn prick my side.

 

We exist a call away; maybe a sigh.

Yet aren’t we both drifting apart?

 

Maybe that’s how we’ll see if we both have hearts.