Eyes

Lead dust settles heavily in the puddle,
twisting it into a pit of tar.
Pestilence devours light,
famine consumes time.

The bloodshot eyes gaze
from my arm to my self-immolating mind,
flogging relief in return for regret
and physical scars replace the mental.

The cancer in my head
spreads to the blade;
down it drops.
A red wine trickle.

The wings on my back
now charcoal.
They scatter ash on
my companions.

Mahogany or oak?
Roses or Tulips?
Who shall attend?
“Tick tock”.

The tedious bloodshot eyes
quiver with impatience.
Tell my family the following: