It’s on the tip of my tongue
It’s falling through the cracks of logic
Darkened caverns of dreary demise?
Untold stories, a volume of lies?
No, just novel fabrications
Creaking through a tainted door
A bloody bodkin coiled in your fist
Knuckles whitened with baseless rage
And I know your next step
It’s screaming from the story’s page
With each fingertip slip
Your heart quickens with fear
Amplified by that detachment
You hold far too dear
Fate is unquestioned when imprinted in verse
…hesitation now, impossible…
Unlike Shakespearian scripture, is this everso terse?
And this says: do not love me
I don’t follow form
I’m merely an emotion
From a mind, far too worn
I’ve witnessed too much hardship
Far too much tension
I’m clinging to something
I don’t think I’ve mentioned -
I’m merely a catastrophe of words
I was strewn together by a figure
Who knows nothing of love
Or death, or pain
Just empty syllables she discerns
….when her words leave her
In a sleepless bed which taunts her
(Soul boggled and unwound)
Body numb, mind buzzing – still searching for the cure
Down below its frigid sheets of cotton and paper
She’s puzzled by reason….
Words, all she cares to find
In a world, lost for meaning
I think she’s also misplaced her mind
…is this a rhyme?
Nevermore.
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