Extinguished
There is a broken soul living here...
Within these dusty off-white walls –
There is a breathing ghost, with sputtering candles for eyes
And a suit of slowly decaying flesh
Clothing her splintered bones...
There is a terminal patient sitting here,
On this ignominious chair, legs crossed,
One foot dangling, toenails painted a hart’s blood red...
Her fingers tapping her death knell on the table,
Dancing over the coffee stains...
There is a condemned inmate reclining here...
On the skids, savouring death row,
She is courting her demise with the candour
And low self esteem, of a seasoned flirt –
With that deadened mask-like smile...
Her nerve endings blunted and firing off malfunctioning sparks
She has no hope – forgot the meaning of the word years ago
In its place lies a gentle coffin of mourning...
Resting where joy should be, in a dirt-filled hole,
A grave for her sins...
And strewn on the fresh turned earth, her heart -
An empty locket, scratched and tarnished by the claw-marks,
By the spattered venom, of dead and dying loves...
Of her soul’s final throes, before the darkness flooded in –
And blew out the tenuous flames
Of those two guttering candles
Copyright © Amy Van De Casteele | Year Posted 2009
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