The Carnival of the Carrion

Transitory in her darkest moods she was dashed
upon a darker shore, deaf amongst the shrills,
ragged before the latest rage.

In cloth torn dreams, she’s a traveler on a hungry
road, trekking with me towards an unmarked
grave somewhere in this scavenger century’s soil.

She’s a pilgrim with a sunset back, who treads the road
with a fiery step, and for every measured foot she takes,
another beating heart falls still.

Before a carnival of carrion, she dances up a storm.
Facebook feeders and Youtube posers caw to her call.
As I bleed through USB cords.

Wirelessly sorted, as I fall.

What is the price for a pointless life? A chambered heart
echoing regret shouts “What if?” Screamed to anonymous
fools, I am threadbare before the thrall.

Soon to touch her frozen face, her breath will scent my
silent sleep. Bones and ash will pave a hungry road, and she'll
soon and tick me off the score, never to know: “What if?”

“What for?”