Dismal be The Headless


Dismal be The Headless

 It is dismal, this place. The walls have degraded with each passing day. I no longer feel it is my home. I feel my own skin wishing to retreat from my bones. I am alone in the empty space I call home. Settled with spiders, roaches, and more.

 The floors are covered in the dreary existence of debt, of soul, heart, and wealth. I don't know, but I pray someone may come and help. But I am poorly suited for company. The least I can do is dust off this shelf.

 Be presentable in at least a moment. For a moment I can hold it together. Keeps myself from fluttering away like a feather lost in wind. There must be a way I can step up and win. This place is riddled in filth.

 I now walk on stilts. In fear of touching my own ground. Beneath this miserable pile of sludge, underneath it all, is my crown. But I gave it up long ago, I turned over my crown to the day I let myself down.

 I could feel myself drown. As I flailed for my crown. Out from the ground came a shroud of crowns. Crowns worn by shadows with voices that trickle. But sound awful, but speak with good reason. But it was treason.

 So off with my head, now I am dormant, maybe even dead. My head rolls from room to room, looking for what looms. What holds in the darkness of my home. Alone, I travel no further than my own front door.

Who dares knock, a quarter past four?

I hear something brew. Something boiling in the next room. From the door that is closed, never to be removed. But what, who knocks, I have no clue.

Frantic, but I must see. I must look who knocks from where no body should be.
My body headless, I roll, I walk to the door, head by feet.

I pray this is something neat. Something to get me from under my feet.

"Open the door I say!"

My body still,

Have I lost control, or merely do I still live in fear?

"Open the door, before whatever is on the other side disappears."

"Ah, there, now open it my body with no head."

I open the door and there, standing on my floor, in my room, in filth of gloom.
There stands what I thought I lost, many, many, years ago.
--
What do you think he found?

Grab it, read it, talk it,  A Man's Traveled Heart
Coming soon, The Bleeding of Words.

Tell me what you think, TwitterInstagramYouTube, and Facebook

Popular posts from this blog

The Scar of War And His Suicide To Escape It

A Moment In the Middle East

A Boy and A War