Derelict Museum
Coal hearted caretaker
never could accept or give love
has a collection of wounded women
placed them in his half-dead heart museum.
He painted over one with his oil-colored tongue.
Stuffed her into a silent taxidermy bird.
He turned some into paper mâché mobiles.
Fingered them into a sad sort of yellowing.
They, void of any hope, were left for dead.
Forever spinning in the end of his selfish head.
Others sit hollow-eyed, clay pot women.
Left on a dusty shelf, chipped and rotting.
Mostly from disrespect and neglect.
Another is in the foyer for the unsmiling,
Colossal bronze busts, monuments to this volcanic prick of destruction.
The final conquest was glass blown.
He melted her spirit into a glowing poem.
A masterpiece born from a seed of sadism.
Hung it in a forgotten corner of his mind.
Framed it in his blood and karmic dust...
Someday he'll have to pay back these endless debts.
And become a forgotten etching in a derelict museum.
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