Six times the angels screamed,
The crows cawed,
And I cried my way out of a nightmares rage,
With blood blistered eyes,
Scratched raw from the dreams.
Five times the words came out,
Splitting into fragments,
Unto deaf-mute ears.
This silence too much,
With this witch that sits on my shoulder.
Four times I saw myself
From angles supplied by warped mirrors
That are placed about the room,
Providing ample words to bury you with.
Scar you with.
Three times I woke to scratch the wounds
In easy tender rips.
Gouges wept for my love in separation.
This night of deprivation.
Two times I told myself,
The light was near.
The end was bright with hope.
Don’t weep for the smoke of illusions.
One time then,
The bed did break.
The bed is broken from the weight.
I am broken from the weight.