I dug up a notebook, and blew off the ashes.
With my hands in my pockets, and my chin tucked to my chest,
I took a stroll through the pages of opiate abuse,
and lusting a harlot. Walking this gravel lane of memories,
no wonder I ended up dangling from an extension cord.
The world could have stopped spinning,
and as far as I was concerned…it had.
With my heart in chunks, hanging from my ribs,
and prison in my future, the heart-broken-record
on the spinner, played around the clock.
Autumn death had coated the walls,
and frost, covered the floors.
Just me and this damn dog, whose nails click-clack
the hardwood, raising the hair on my neck and
boiling the blood flowing the sewers of my body.
“Someone has to die”…Well, someone had….
Doors nailed shut, and the windows boarded up.
I was haunting my own home…
Sleeping in a hoodie, and not showering for days.
Filth filmed my skin, darkness glazed my eyes.
A constant dispute, with those within me,
and speaking aloud to the apparitions, of those I’ve once loved.
I still can’t say, how I ever made it to spring …alive.
These pages, have never got any warmer, although summer.
Sometimes, the clouds part a moment, and shine little.
I squint, and turn my head.
A part of me is gone, lost in January,
and January, will be forever in my heart.
©N.R. Shepherd 2016
You can pray if you want, but God’s not here this evening. ….It’s just you and I under this pale moonlight, dancing… N.R. Shepherd