i will be no Elysian hero;

i shall be condemned
to a life wandering in
the Fields of Asphodel,
to walk aimlessly forevermore



i dread

that i will fall into a crevice
and tear the flesh
on my fingertips
in a futile attempt
to claw my way out
of the pit that holds

           every
living
manifestation
of the creatures
     that haunt me
                  in my sleep

i'll hold a talisman
tightly
to my chest,
so purge my mind
of these nightly horrors

and cleanse
my mind
again

he was nostalgia
                                                       ­      like tarnished silver
                                                          ­                    and black cherry-stained lips;
found comfort
in bottles of gin
to wipe away
the icy bitter resentment
entrenched beneath his skin

my love and devotion for you
was a wavering candle light
held to my chest to shield
from a wicked wild wind
it dripped wax onto my unsteady hands
scalding my fingertips
a foreign burn seeping into my skin

(my love) became my sole source of comfort;
a wooden fireplace
in the depth of a cold Chicagoan winter
thawed my heart of ice
and you breathed life into my lungs

every time you beamed at me
I  found myself
falling in love with your smile
'til I had seen that same lopsided grin of yours
flashed to someone else

and so,
the fire in my soul gave way
to waves after waves of relentless jealousy
that which pounded
against the shores of my heart
carved away gaping crevices
in the jagged ridges of my ribcage

in one final encore
black acrid flames returned in full force
as I clawed off
my flesh and bone
tearing at the itchiness in my blood
and the taste
of iron in the back of my throat

here I am
another one of your victims
with third-degree burns

my nerves are burnt beyond repair;
I no longer feel anything for you

Perhaps one day, when I am older,
I will look at who I am today-
A scrawny girl
with her hands balled up so tight
That there are crescent-shaped depressions
in the palms of her hands

(She will be standing leagues behind me)

And I will run, run to her
with my dying strength

I'll offer my condolences,
And give withering flowers to my own ghost.