Sift down to the gritty, shaking hands rock to and fro like a Ferris wheel car
Struggling each sinking stone to shush, to mute entirely, to caress each knuckle
To reassure—or at least calm the twisting worm on the dry sun caked pavement.
I listen to each breath in my ear, a mirror to things past, a gentle sloshing of misfortunes
Round and round the acid wall where the memories paint my smile
One pin ***** could spew cannibal poison in my cavity and eat me from the inside out.

The veiled things pushed to the back of the top shelf sink their dull talons downward
The pain was sharp once—the wound fresh and inexperienced, weeping non stop,
But now it is dull…sore like the dark morning in winter. A boarded up cabinet.
Yet always in my vision, always, always—a grey murmur, subtle yet driving me,
The vigil, to pry my lids open. To feel the sting of air gnawing at moisture—
To place black lilies on the casket of our love, and never ever look away.