My fridge is filled with funeral food,
Tasting as dark as death, leaving me
Empty no matter what I consume.
The sweetest taste registers bitter upon my tongue,
Until I can only vomit it up,
Step on it as I walk away.
The blackness in my mind surrounds
These four walls, chewing on my
Darkened heartstrings.
I keep waiting for the moment when the
Veil of ugliness will thin; will be lifted.
I should know better.
I am a creature of habit,
Picking the scabs of reminiscence
Until they ooze and bleed and
I cry when they try to heal once more.
I am lost in the fog of reality,
Painfully grasping onto the edges
Of imagined dreams.
I slip away; I let me slip away,
Wholly, so that I am never to return.
The fragments get stomped out,
The last glittering pieces of me
Are brushed under the rug and forgotten.
If I were a flame, a rain storm would come
To snuff me out.
A flame dead from a wick that cannot be relit.
But for how long can the tears pour
From my eyes like lava from a volcano
Before I start to apply the salve and
Bandages that will help me heal?
Or am I to wear this necklace of shame
Until it becomes heavier than me,
And then trudge on some more?
Soon it will be all said and done.
If they cannot bury me without it,
Burn me with it.
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