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Poem

The Castle in My Mind

Around the same time
of each leap year, 
My mind runs out of rhyme
and freezes out of fear. 
Even if I
am not even here. 

Even if I 
am not tucked into the sheet
of 42 West
Virginia Street. 
My mind, still it scatters
in my life full of tatters, 
as people ask me 
if it really still matters. 

Course to me, it still does. 
'Coz to them, it's just a story. 
Cloaked full of my past glory. 
dripped from my poisoned pen. 
And they still don't believe 
in my words now. 
So why should they back then? 

My mind is an apartment complex
scattered round and round
still a couple dozen staircases 
until you reach the ground. 

The doctors, though they try
to sink their claws in,
Well, they are not welcome 
in Hell's Finest Inn. 

For once they pass through
the white roses and thorns, 
the Devil starts
to creep ever close and he warns
with the shadow of his 
red bleeding horns. 

Just another person
trying to help, 
that is certain. 
But Death is sneaky, conniving 
and clever.
He hides me forever
behind his blue sweeping curtain.

And soon the red snowflakes
made out of their blood 
drown out the wolf's howl
as he's stuck in the flood. 

As I sit by Death's fire. 
Playing lute, harping 'liar', 
the dancing flames keep me warm. 

But the overgrown leaves
melt their brains, so it seems. 
And the help, well now it's lost
forever to the storm.

For when you have screamed 
so vehemently at Death, 
he takes your last words
and swallows your final breath.

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