There is a little funeral in the shades of my
hands. I am blinded by the lives of the dead,
yet you say nothing of this black spiked
madness, shaking me goodbye, no longer
calling my name. I breathe in invisibles,
blackened edges until I see no body in my
house. The death weapon smells my fear only
you could cut out; but, I live with boxes I can't
keep away from; sullen as sleep, a sacrificial
seed about to break into reverence in the quiet.
Sweet devil, there are no windows to see.
Tongue of hell, you know what lies are for.
Snuffed candle, you wound me as the world
hurts God. The raw skull grieves it cannot be
holy, chilled to death with frozen faith before
the angry dawn. I unwind all the clocks of
hazardous dreams, annihilation of the spider
queen as you disappear with devilish ease.
I break the image of you under my feet
where cracks appear as bat's wings,
secret hieroglyphics, exiled to no good.
Copyright © 2008, Alexis Child. All Rights Reserved.
Previously published in Aug./08
NVF Magazine
Reprinted in Sein Und Werden
Summer 2009 issue
Featured in the Summer Edition 2015,
Black Petals #72
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reproduced, or used for any other purpose without permission of the Author.