-Her Shadow Poem-
  -  -  -

I am nowhere to be seen,
In this cluttered mess of Mary Jean.
Clothes and hair lie on the floor,
Blood stains line a path to the door.
My bloodied body perfectly still,
Underneath the window sill.
Now that I have set the scene,
Listen to the ****** by Mary Jean.

Dark one night in the cold winter’s chilling,
Outside the store where I’d been living,
Cold as cold as cold can get,
No warmth was found in this woman I met.

Her hands were warm, and her words spoke right,
“Do you need a place tonight?”
My heart collapsed as I agreed,
To stay a night with Mary Jean.

She let me in and took my coat,
Gave me some old things that she wrote.
Made me tea and sang a song,
Just before it all went wrong.

I read a poem,
I read a song.
I read of dark and twisted *****.
I read of ******, of slaughtered scenes,
I read of simple nasty things;

I read of these with no expression present,
I read from these but they were pleasant.
I read of these and thought of Poe,
Thought of King and other folk.
“What a wicked fantasy!” my mouth had finally released.

She looked at me with stone cold ice,
Colder than the air outside,
Eyes that could freeze a wailing volcano,
Eyes that could still a grown man’s soul.




Doors had closed with no one near,
Her smile grew from ear to ear.
Running to the door I screamed!-
“Please just let this be a dream!”
As I drew near to the door,
The knife thrown to me, I heard it soar.
Ducked but this was my mistake,
She was aiming for my leg.
It hit me in between my blades,
Above my lungs, but my breath still fades.

Still alive! I’m still alive! I didn’t see the what danger lied.
A candle lit above me now,
She stood above me, one raised brow.

I felt her drag me to the pane,
Where I saw her raven slayn.
I noticed then that there were stains,
Red and black, some carpet plain.
She reentered with a black glass bowl,
Candles, feathers, and paper scrolls.
She spoke the words of the devil’s book,
As she did the cabin shook.

She then bent down and, I halfway gone,
Spoke the words of a beautiful song.
“The stars may shine and the moon is out for you to see,
But the sun never shouts in jealousy.
You admire the sun as much as the stars,
The sun is what gives you who you are.
You bid by night and travel by day,
You play your cards and slip away.
Moon man sees and he does seek,
For what is found should not be meek.
Your pride is weak and trust is high,
That is why I sing tonight.”

The song settled in and the song was mine,
To me she had given me my own life.
She took mine in to make her song.
I’d been singing all along…