Cinderella Lost Track of Time
The water is wet,
And the sky is blue.
Satan Claws is out there,
Somewhere looking for you.
As skeletons roll their fingers
And the reaper twists his sickle,
Businessmen make their deals
As artists starve and scribble.
Tell me, Dr. Seuss,
That all poetry rhymes.
Tell me a fable Aesop,
About good guys that don’t die.
“Dear God, When the music’s over,
and this monkey’s gone to heaven,
Will he be knocking ion heaven’s door?”
I miss the times we had,
The words we said and music we listened to.
But it’s been three days,
No resurrection.
No conversation.
Self-persecution, And the book of Revelation.
She lies on the floor,
Swimming in pills next to empty bottles.
A velveteen rabbit
And stuffed Scooby Doo
Both stare at her.
Frozen.
Broken.
Stolen.
That is just the way that some things do not materialize.
Maybe she’s an angel now,
Watching over my shoulder.
Seeing me write.
Seeing me cry.
Rolling her fingers,
Waiting for me to die.
OR maybe she’s just ashes,
Growing beautiful flowers.
Tulips.
Roses.
Daisies.
Maybe I am just freaking crazy.
Well,
either way,
she’s not here,
and the
clock
is cycling around
for
my
turn.
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