Half awake
You lie amidst
The clatter of
Empty bottles
As the
Sun clangs
Down upon
The copper roof
Of your crypt
Like a hammer
Against an anvil,
Your death-
How it came
To you
In the shape of
A dark haired
Girl who
Touched you
Where you'd
Never been
Touched before.
At the pain
Of living
You allowed her
To kill you,
Tearing out
Your throat,
Drinking deep
Even as she
Gave birth
To you.
She gripped
Your reins
You where
You hungered
Then one night
She released them,
Leaving you
As an orphan
Puzzle piece
Rattling among
The ruins
Of your death.
Outside, someone
Fires up
A lawnmower;
The sudden roar
In the summer heat
Makes you sit up
Staring, groping
Among the empties
For what you
Know is gone-
No touch
Where you hunger
To be touched,
While the mower
Gobbles up and
Spits out the
Grass beneath
The cracked and
Clouded windows
Of your crypt.