Window

Four blades of lead line this fine sheet of crystal
fitting it into the baulking bastion that I call a home.
Without company and webbed by solitude, the division
between the plane of reality and sanctuary binds me
to a blackness, bleaker and colder than a void.

The decay of an exalted life is so pungent
that it supplants the strongest of men.
Forgotten, ignored, I agonise over the loss of light, hope – human contact.
Confused and broken, I bicker bitterly over what was, what could have been
what will and what will never come to pass in the morbidly disfigured carcass
I call life.

 

Displaced

I look in your eyes
I see an eternal darkness
a pitch black, enveloped by a void
unknown to all.

I hold your hands
I feel a burning chill
cold flesh; wrapped in rags
stagnant with decay.

I caress your body
so lifeless. There is nothing.
a hollow husk; laid threadbare
gilded with fading light.

A warmth long gone.