deepundergroundpoetry.com

Tunnelling

If it meant anything
Id remember this room

these bones
and their grave
of aftermaths

how shed carve her scars
into a knotted bed frame
proclaiming herself chiseled
somewhere between draft
and work of art.

Id remember your etchings
with every barefoot silence
creeping through flame

for its all ash now
and I am an old brush
smearing your kiss
across my cheek

branding your lips
my most hellish war

because in the end
we are all bare before
our slaughterhouses

promising to feel
our highs before we die
in one final letter
to oblivion

and you
my epileptic bride,
shivering a fit of pity
fold before me

halfway
between halos
and the flicker
of white light.
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