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Aug 2019
Wrinkled. Dry faced. Charging down old stairs.
Not what I expected, but I lunged my frantic knife.
Wild eyes turn to wells as aged bright stars stare back.
Heart shattered visage glides, bumbling. Mirage.


Please go do some gardening. Your flowers are
Sick without you. I miss you. Dream spoilt. Crooked,
Half-hearted, direful springs sprout poison youth.
Seedlings blight your wrathful name as petals grow…


The flowers you grew colourless now bloom bright.
They miss grey! True blue is cold- burdened purple.
Feel the life drink backward, clutching an endless
Night you downed tools without final reconcile
Or friend blinded from drugs.
Now staring beyond a time-stained bitter fire,
Burnt images caught and ****** through empty dark
Tortured fear-stricken blood wincing agony- ****.


Fate lamenting, sharply-flashing, tortured picture,
Lying motionless. Bleeding internally.
My Grandfather died a couple of years ago. I had been living with him for a while. He died in his sleep and I left him covered in his own blood and ***** for 3 days. I didn't mean to. I had convinced myself he had the flu and had convinced myself that every little change in the apparel of the house was proof he had been out of his room. Until the stench broke through the filter...
Ackerrman
Written by
Ackerrman  31/M/Essex
(31/M/Essex)   
329
   Fawn and N
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