The writings of Oddpoet

This wicked, wicked vial set­ting on your shelf
Taunts with scream­ing silence to
“Look at me! Look at me!”

I look.
All I see
Is the wicked, wicked vial star­ing
On the shelf back at me.

It’s grown dusty and blanched
Blotchy sepia label
The acid of touch eat­ing the image
Of what remains
From the out­side in.

Wicked, wicked vial
Hold­ing emo­tion hostage
Scold­ing denial with mere pres­ence…
I look and see
That there is noth­ing inside
Not even vengeance
Not even vengeance.

I lost this game
It’s over
There’s noth­ing here but dust now
I breathe it every day
The dust of death
And decay
Rot­ting on a shelf that I should have destroyed
I should have destroyed…
But it held my heart
How could I let it go…

Wicked
Wicked
Vial.
I’ll con­sume your essence
On the bed of my death
Frail and weak
You’ll remind me of my great­est fail­ure
And take my voice
So that I may not speak.

©Jen2010 8–3

This entry was posted on Tuesday, August 3rd, 2010 at 12:02 am and is filed under Para Poetry. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.