shouting into an abysswith no answersno echosevery sound is swallowedby this silent vacuum of timei can't even hear my own voiceyet i still try to make contactwith someonewith something
freckled, spotted skinthe sunlight exposesall the times this face has laughedall the times this face has furrowed its browssigns of wear, like a used leather bagsomething so humansomething so vulnerablewhat is your story?what secrets are buried deep in your pores?
Burning tears sting my cheeksCan't you see meSuffocating in the smokeThe smoke that drowns out all your rationaleBetrayed, heartbroken, lostYou're too intoxicated to see my agonyToo blinded to see your own pitiful realityCurled up in a cornerDreaming of a different lifewhere the world's suffering doesn't poisonthe innocent souls of childrenIt torments me to listenTo your haggard breathingThat seems to whisper help meI love you but i cannot save you
Take a hold nowOn the silver handles here,Six silver handles,One for each of his old pals.Take holdAnd lift him down the stairs.Put him on the rollersOver the floor of the hearse.Take him on the last haul,To the cold straight house.The level even house,To the last house of all.The dead say nothingAnd the dead know muchAnd the dead hold under their tonguesA locked-up story.
I am not the black cat.There were four of us;my grandmother,a black cat,a myth,and I.My grandmother oftentold us a myth.When you are ill, she said,if a black catcomes and sits on your bedit means that youwill die soon.I was only six,seriously ill.Our black cat
He wakes, who never thought to wake again,Who held the end was Death. He opens eyesSlowly, to one long livid oozing plainClosed down by the strange eyeless heavens. He lies;And waits; and once in timeless sick surmiseThrough the dead air heaves up an unknown hand,Like a dry branch. No life is in that land,Himself not lives, but is a thing that cries;An unmeaning point upon the mud; a speckOf moveless horror; an Immortal OneCleansed of the world, sentient and dead; a flyFast-stuck in grey sweat on a corpse's neck.I thought when love for you died, I should die.It's dead. Alone, most strangely, I live on.