What must it be?
What must it be that doth
Pour from those cracked casements,
Those scarlet striped pools?
What must it be that doth cause my
Sodden mind and ground?
That doth cause me, in darkness,
To drown.


Does it match the dripping stain
On the shard of glass that has
Burrowed itself into my hand?
Did this shard destroy the
Mirrored surface of those pools?
Or perhaps embed itself into that
Beating ***** inside of you.


Does it match the glass itself,
Whose fissures now grow?
Did I remove those casements
And leave nothing but the black
Pits behind? Or perhaps I tore
That structure apart in fear of
What you might find.


What must it be that doth
Drain form those dark globes,
Those black doll-like spheres?
What must it be that doth
Shovel atop my cringing body?
That doth implant the nails into
My buried crib?