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?”
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