"She left the city as a girl
And returned a woman
In the same shoes
On the same night.
A face in the darkness;
The reaper glimpsed
At journey's end.
He straddles the bridge
Between tonight and tomorrow--
He's a revolver with
One bullet missing
From the chamber;
He's the Wheel of Fortune
With its terms unwritten;
He's an unsigned DNR notice.
He's the end of the line."

...Now, here, I stand,
miles ahead,
on disconnecting tracks,
a once-raging fire,
slowly fading,
to a silver smoke...

Wondering,
...where did you go?

Have your own wolfish eyes,
peered into glassy irises
that even, in the silences,

reminded you,
of mine?

What existed, in me
that you let me, survive?

Mister, oh, please, let,
me in on your secret...
and tell me, now, do you regret ...

how you kept me... alive...?

Leaden clouds sweep swiftly in from the north,  
Blanketing the sapphire skies in melancholy.  
Deafening, rolling thunder cracks  
As a mysterious chill sends a shudder up my spine.  

A faint knock rasps at my front door;  
Whispers circulate, ringing through my walls,  
Echoing my name ever so sinisterly.  

For twenty and twenty years, I have been happily discontent,  
Freezing my sins in lovely seclusion.  
Now, a dank darkness drapes this dilapidated sanctuary.  

Peering out the curtains, I see death's arrival—  
Ruby red roses in my formerly lush garden  
Crumbling to ash, fading into the earth.  

Elongated fingers peek through the dubious haze.  
A cackling booms.  

To my right stands an ornate Victorian mirror.  
Turning my head, I can see the flames of Hell rage.  
What was once just a plane of glass  
Has now become a beckoning portal.  

Without hesitation, I rip it off the wall,  
Smashing the omen, trying to escape an unfathomable fate.  
Within seconds, it's fully reconstructed,  
Signaling there is no reprieve.

Blackest wings, scale higher than mountains
in the chill of tonight's air,
scarred and bleeding from within,
determined to reach her lover's side,
A voice calls out to her voyage
but her vision gets lost
as it starts to drizzle and rain.

She collides & in such pain,
her claws trying to embed the side
of the rocks but she keeps skidding down,
& at the last moment he scoops her up
having flown down & heard her cries.
But she dies in her lover's arms,
gripping his ribs with tearful eyes....

A shower empowers sick flowers in bed
six hours will sour the flowers instead
they wilt and they weep at the hours ahead
as the silt where they sleep devours the dead.

Worry not, my dear.
I see that you are tired.
Come in, theres no need to rush.
Lie down, my bed is plush.
The wife has cookies in the oven.
There are about a dozen.
I know, she chose him instead.
Don't let it get to your head.
Is your neck feeling any better?