29 lines
834 B
Text
29 lines
834 B
Text
|
an old bunk house built for two
|
||
|
|
2020-01-23
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
***
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
your love is a rain-soaked roof
|
||
|
|
sheltered and framed by trees as proof
|
||
|
|
that the forest still sees you as one of its own
|
||
|
|
the throned cabin you rest upon
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
you've been vacant of human attention for years
|
||
|
|
and your water pipes have dried up, and so have your tears
|
||
|
|
vines laced with emerald, envy creeping up your spine
|
||
|
|
choking the life and the love that I used to call mine
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
your mouth opens, inviting inside
|
||
|
|
the animals seeking shelter to hide
|
||
|
|
but the mold has settled deep in your bones
|
||
|
|
so the animals leave, disgusted; you sit there alone
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
eventually the rot will reach your mind too
|
||
|
|
and not even sun's gentle touch will be able to soothe,
|
||
|
|
outstretched in good grace with gentle cleansing in tow,
|
||
|
|
the corpse of a heart that once so violently glowed
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
***
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
CC BY-NC-SA 4.0 (c) Vane Vander
|