I am nothing to you, but flesh bound in pity and waste
A dislocated voice
from your memory that screams in the night
A body that longs to be found
A sunken recess on your grounds
Where the waste from your lush oaken table
absorbs in the weeds
and then feeds my dejected disease

I am nothing to
you, but residual heart-laden slime
Buried so deep beneath turning calender
pages and lime
A disgrace
My pictures all turned on their face
As you race
to scrape off the flowers i placed on the lid
with my hands to your closed
casket heart

I will strike you at night when your heart is not guarding
the door
I will creep in your sleep and your tears will languish on the
floor
You'll awake confused by this dramatic state
And you'll hate the
silence inside you, and call for me but I've been crushed
by your closed
casket heart