He would bring me orchids,
To the cemetery late at night
We would make love amongst the tombstones
In the pale, moonlight
Whispering sweet promises,
We both knew could never be
I prayed to the godless heavens,
That he'd be mine for eternity
Now he forever lies,
In that cemetery by the sea
Only the scent of death and orchids,
Brings his memory back to me

I walked hallways and corridors that led me to
nowhere but haunting blood scenes
and ***** nooses hanging with emptiness
where the bodies used to be
whispers screaming to be heard from the ceilings
and the corners
like bone edges on her body, ribcage swallowing
the birds up whole,
feathers between the lips
and blood on the fingertips where her hands
once held the carcasses of lost souls

Borrowed words: all to describe
Stolen moments, rented time.
Diction that I now transcribe.
A story that's not wholly mine.

In my bed I sleep; I dream.
Surrounded by walls that seem
Adequate to serve my needs.
But these walls weren't built for me.

The walls have ears--the ceiling, eyes.
Speak through our tongues--our own demise.
Nowhere is there now to hide,
For I (and you) am a loyal spy.

Woven into fabric rendered
To fulfill some view of splendor.
But no one here can remember
Why we stitch torn cloth together.

Too short, too tall, too weak to handle;
Must reinforce to insure it's ample.
But how can I shatter what is fragile
If I am what I wish to dismantle?