Saturday, July 13, 2013


There must be some forgery,
Of the bruises that had once been.
Or have they just been swept under
Memories that do not heal.

‘Tis the mutiliation,
That threatens to wield again,
Masking itself in putrid malice,
And drag me back to their realms.

They come in the morns’
Lest there be suspicion,
Darkness is not afraid of the light,
I am.

While the star studded glorious night ends,
I go back to the cupboards,
To claw in more of you.
My reflections’ never seen,
My howls never heard,
Heard and ignored.

Dirt thrown into my empty grave,
And I, exhumed for my golden hair.

I wait for the dawn.

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