Dead And Gone

Like trying to write when your ink has spilled from your pen,

words lost in the disarray of poetic listings,

This heart is silent...

Flesh cold to the touch...

Seams shredding under dull unsharpened knives.

Each pierce is forced...

pain to feed lack of feeling.

The numb that has possessed my chest for times present and times past is the only flow through veins corroded in rejection.

Bitter comes in flashes of red...

And crumbled pages make it's bed at my feet.

Death whispers her desire for what remains as I cling to the shards that bled me dry in the first place.

I choke on my thoughts...

Scattering in my throat..

In fear of spilling words that hang me on the podium while my body is scrutinized by the judge with no right to judge in the first place.

The wolves stalk my rocking back and forth with starved eyes,

Waiting for me to venture out from this hole I keep myself pinned so they may feast on my screams that no longer exist in the silence of voice.

Choices were made and I selflessly gave what would wither to ash,

as leaves in the cool autumn wind in a weak moment simply needing to hand my burdens to set in another's hand.

and they faded one at a time,

bleeding every crimson strand of life from my vains.

Replacing in me poison,

the sickness that leaves me in shambles hiding my shell from deaths grasp...

Even as I know every part of me is gone and burned to ash.