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.

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