bleak

March 28, 2008

 

 

I’ve thrust open the door to my soul one too many times.

As I stood helplessly by, the senseless and apathetic revelry

marched across the threshold into the inner chamber.

They partied, drank, swore, and stomped.

They thrashed themselves together, writhing in fake pleasure

as I watched like a soulless ghost, excited to tingles,

 

yet their faces disappeared.

Their bodies vanished into the fleshy walls.

Over faster than the swing of the bolted door open.

All I’m left with is an empty, grimy room needing to be cleaned.

A wide-open door that I’m not sure how to close,

a busted lock hanging from its latch.

 

 

the destroyed room 1978

 

 

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