The curtain is kept drawn, with Darkness
Peeking through slits, stealing Glimpses of the estranged, riding
The swaying chair, carved by suicide thoughts.
Beats upon the chest,
Thumping echo of the final drip
Caught still, while clenched eyes
Fear to open.
Panic in the cold morning,
When death becomes lucid
And less haunting, instead
Of uncertainty, you’re captured
In the spill into the everlasting moment
When we find ourselves lost.
As the light flickers, in the distance
A bitter flower blossoms within
The chocked heart’s rumble,
Suffocated throat in a noose, eats
Me whole, while wilting
From the haunted howl
In an underground garden, buried
Beneath my death, is the rising growth,
Wrapping up and through, swallowing
Whole are the twisted vines,
Thorn covered, scraping death off
The walls of my vanishing gullet,
Barricading, against the invasion
Of the slithering decay, looking
For its next meal,
Drugged, from an unsuspected bite,
Pulling me into the kaleidoscope
In the roots of this underground garden,
Lost, myself to its hold,
I’m swallowed whole.