Several days ago,
I wandered through the ashy town-
Which once grew with wild flames
Before the eternal Frown.

The bistros and stores blacked-out
Signs hanging, muddy paths
Doors locked and smashed windows
No signs of life, haunting wraths.

The smell of burnt leather
And bones rattling against the wind.
Broken signposts leading nowhere
And corpses of animals, skinned.

What savagery and fright hit this old place?
As I look to a hole in the ground-
Rats and rotting bodies
and bullet shells all around.

Perhaps these lands will never be free of outlaws
Who **** in cold blood.
Then let them drown in their crimes
Amid the Great Flood.

Right here,
on the stage,
right in front of the public.
As they chant, as they cheer.

For the mugging of your blood.

Tell me about the hidden closet,
The skeleton key that danced gently upon your collarbone,
Fragile and cold against your pale skin.
Death,
I called you.
Elegantly tragic,
Your white horse with his dead eyes stared into the souls of which you kept.
All but mine.
I was the lock to your skeleton key,
Your unwinding and unapologetic soul dwindled in my hollow bones.
Tainted blood and warmth that imitated life itself,
You bringer of death.
Your key belonged to you but your soul belonged to me.