LUCTUS

Frost spiralling on glass, It’s misting, Yawning limbs of moss glued on my windowsill, And it’s still, Still, I pondered, a treacherous task, I pondered wanting and missing and trapping, Like a ray of sunlight, Enclosed by the silk of a spider’s wing; Can it be explained away? This strange lovehatred, That has me undead, Numb and in pain anyway, Frozen to the bone with frostbitten lips, And a midnight’s nightshade kiss, Devoid of the warmth you stole, This death is slow, The sink is splashed with crimson, And there’s screaming in my head, Along with a sort of silence that’s strangely red; Contend with that which you fear, And you be left with tears, in tears, Is there a thing stronger than the terror, Loneliness? A being more potent than the Agony of being broken-hearted?