my dear,
what am I?
a cold
brambled work of art
and what are these?
ancient runes
or
biro marks
you called them,
gracing ashen skin
atop a withered heart

these sunken grooves
bloodied tattoos
open wounds for you
to dig your grubby nails
into a little harder
your six-foot grave
a little deeper
go on
I dare you

open wide
lashed curtains
to years of shrouded fears
etched upon those
dusty panes
that flash
like a VHS on fast
forward
how delusional!
but what a feast
for my own
tear-stained glass

oh tempest
borne of thorns
and salted rain!
a true work of
heart—come on
you can’t deny
how beautiful the sky
looks when she’s
angry

I bet you’re wishing
the storm had two eyes
because then there’d be room
for the both of us

but alas

my offering
to her
a sacrifice
no more as
your body climbs
long flailing limbs
and ample shrieks sublime
my parting gift
to you—
your shrinking form—
a knowing wink
I bid you
take good care of it
for once,
my dear