Baby birds hop softly along the long gravel driveway
Approaching the house I remembered your face
Fast images of red and the deafening sound of crinkled paper

The cracked wood on the porch is under sooo much pressure

Keeping a decent place for feet to step
is a lot to ask from wood

So where are the curtains you and whatshisface would hide behind
And when did this place become a boarded up oblivion

Do i dare enter the bedroom where so much hair and teeth have been
pulled and chipped and
fucked
and fucked away

Walking with your ghost down the halls of this old house
almost makes me feel in real company again

I ask the ghost why is there carpet on the walls
and a clusterfuck of love notes stacked to the ceiling

Of course she doesnt answer

this in not a Talking Ghost
It figures i get the Helen Keller of paranormal

And somewhere along the drive way
As i turned my back on Hellhouse at 42 goatsneck drive
I remembered
that your not really a ghost
your just dead to me

it was me that was murdered
Guess I brought home one harlot too many
So you plucked out my fingernails with pliers
and filed them into tiny spears
duct taped them to the lit ends of sparklers and celebrated your independence on my face

As my eyes were melting
And the spears hit my cornea
The last thing i could make out behind the all the flashing and sulfur
Was a mirror taped to your head

And i slowly watched myself die

04/14/2007

Posted on 04/14/2007
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