Biding time until reaper's weepers dispersed The mourning departed to spread grief song
I linger until silence befell cemetery gates Beyond the ceremonial bound
In observance Solitary silence Spiritual widow I’ve waited…
Making way across the damp green Souls stick in the mud sinking Making my way to you One last time
Love out of sight Residing now on opposing dimensions Held in the brevity of penumbra Lovestruck in shadow Your dark spell, loves curse
By the mound afore you I stare into your pit Imagining the pits of your eyes behind the box Pondering the transparency of your boxes of fabrication Heart-shaped carpentry, weak to these sorrowful eyes
My love on a fine line Kneeling with my hands in your mud bed I climb into your grave Lay atop of your box poured with flowers you hate
Deep in the hole upon my love’s burial bed Breathing in the fumes of your death Feeling deaths whispers swarm my head
Love eternally buried in me Beyond the finite blood and bone Can you feel the heat penetrate your cold corpse? I lie in your pit Widow death shroud On top of my love…
Gnashing and gnawing at my innards Viscera shredded; trauma tombs embedded Stitch in bells, weigh down the nauseating flapping Jangle a euphonious jingle Steady placement of chinked shield Conceal agonies.
U-bend blocked There my guilt brims Shame for wishing away rapid cell division Liquor and voluntary scalding Natures way away Life folding poured out Out of Order; terror of disorder
For two, a freshly dug hole The morning after Mourning follows Nipping at heals with the snow A hollow in another garden There, a piece of my heart lays A depression for my first’s succession
She wants to see my torment on display To harvest in morbid grief games Pretend she’s just the same Catfish loss-mother Conspiring tiring Yearning to reap from the suffering leaks of my soul Observe my lamentations trapped in a fishbowl To don a cape, be in control Prodding my wounds, infecting
Imitation empath storing stories Catalogued, indexed, held hostage Latching of grief vampires Sucking ephemeral life’s marrow Chipping stones off my bones
An archaeologist scraping the shovel No delicate brushing of bristles Attention desperation Desecrating my pain Self-appointed steward on my cradle’s grave.
Clan Witch & Word Refinery 