on a lack of existence
and a breath never taken.
Taken from me
and returned with a bredrin
of similar interests
and shadowed bones
beneath skin
never touched, seen
by the sun nor the moon of man.
Waking in the night,
breathless, hot to touch,
ache to feel a steal of a glance
towards a closed window
with no one looking in.
Dreams of the shadows
and that gorgeous flesh
on bones invisible
to the all seeing eye.
A closed door, an opened mail,
a tale of two cities,
of woe from the pretty
and the damned.
May it all be seen on words
with a story between each line
equalling questionnaires
and scratching of heads.
Bewildered, bludgeoned and black
from the lack of faith left behind.
Pandora's box doesn't leave hope.
Instead a question mark
on a cross shaped albatross
trailing around my neck.
Beckoning with outreached hands,
standing alone
there is nothing to grow out of
and no grief to greet
on the door.
Death never knocked.
Fate answered regardless.
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