Annabelle's Dungeon of Depravity
Mourning Light

 

Oh well... I felt inspired to try writing some poetry just to see how badly I can mess it up
 
 

I see that light again.
Didja see a white flash, the sparklies?
A searing white light
Singing your brows
   All curly
      black
         crispy.
And the hated after image
   One that never goes away
      burned into your retina.
Tattoos for the eyes.

Some people lay flowers
   at gravesides.
Didja ever lay flowers
   just for me?
As I did for you
   for so long?
      So long.  Or
Didja just lay me.

Somebody keeps telling me:
   Wake up!
   It really is just a
      one way mourning.
         Afternoon.  Evening.
   Bullshit with big smiles.
(Oops!  My eyebrow just fell off!)

But really,
   Really now
I do want to know:
   Didja weep
      didja mourn for me
         Didja didja
The way I mourned for you?
I, the one left hollow.
   Blow on me.
   You can hear my deep echo.

It's just an empty shooting gallery of love now
   Room for rent,
      Vacant now . . .
         No . . .
            condemned.
No more junkies, just trash
   And dead needles
      And love letters
         And pleas of despair never delivered
            And those weird floor stains
   That make you look away in shame.
But you can shoot up right now.
   Right here!

My dilute runny blood
   Looks all pretty in pink.
      Doncha think?
All mixed with spittle and tears.
Sorta pastel.
God, it's bright today!  So bright
It singes my brows, I see it
   With my eyes closed
      Even
         now.

ennui 03/22/99

(copyright 1999 ennui)