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Inside the cracked walls of a summer come and gone, in a past without choking on tears. The inaudible sound of your sweet voice haunts my screaming ears, crushing my heart. The edges of my fading memories, your distant frozen unreachable warmth, just a crack in the mirror that no one that no one can feel. A broken doll singing silent songs of mud. Drain the blood of maggots in the days never to be retrieved. Pierce the eyes with the briars of a clock that crumbles to dust in the days of grieving. To her statue of frozen blood I offer the voices of the dead with a sad smile on their faces, the sad smile on her corpse, the shattered bone and tattered heart, The dripping blood of a gaping chest the endless pain of a heart cut out. The creaking evening of invisible gallows. The twelve winter messengers washed ashore calling out their lovers names. The mirage floats above like a piece of paper, the wasted country made of glass. The corpse sings with a bread of tears across its breast. The hawk’s shadow on the cliff where life ceases to exist, nothingness . . . will anyone ever care enough to tell a tale of such misery?
 Enecko · Wed Jul 12, 2006 @ 08:39pm · 1 Comments |
