She spoke to me as Poe did
All shadows and skeletons, well-hid
Behind painted brick
She kept me reading
Her tell-tale heart beating
With mine, in time I would recognize
Irregularities, and I'd swear
She'd heard me, from beyond her self-built mausoleum
As I picked with bloodied fingertips
At the corner, dug away at the mortar
Between us, but
It takes years to dig a tunnel by hand
'Specially when she'd sit defiant
At the other end, never lift a finger
To reach her so-called lover, instead she
Decomposed each poem I wrote
Left me alone to claw and choke
On the dust that rose up when I scratched and I groped
For the life that I led before I'd lost hope
And she'd tell me the stories that Poe did
About love not quite requited
And her obsession would keep her skeleton well-hid
But it was all I'd known
And all I've ever owned
Was this corner of mortar and brick
And maybe it's just my heart beating now
Scratching these words into the walls that surround
At least one skeleton destined to be found
By the next lonely soul
At the edge of a tunnel
Willing to chase his own dreams
Into the ground.
No comments:
Post a Comment