Doom dealt him a triumphant card
As he cut yet another
mark in his quivering
Flesh
Sick

Oh they say get over it
It'll be better
Snap out of it


Quiet destructive daze you quiet I scream
Through blood red of my expression
Cutting so sharp and neat
that it exudes meaning

Hidden I wish it in the bone of ghost's beauty
Where was it
that in you I saw that glimpse
of fortuitous glory?


Not I red not in muddled crosses crucifixes
Resemblances of death and suffering only not
What the Christ feels but what I feel and felt
In it I die


The card that was dealt meaningful
yet wounding
The life that I know
the lives I see
And somewhat understand


Death destruction disassociation
the elements of the wood
That crossways exist not only in the ages but
In my skin in my psyche in my being

In the glory of mourning I want and do not get

In you and myself I know what is not there
an absence
So poignant and present that wounds seem to
Magnify my longing