I stole these words.

No, No

Not stole

The word is too harsh

though we have beat it tender

with talk of hearts and kisses

You gave them to me

You cut

You cut open your vein

and they poured forth

Putrid from being kept too long

in the still open wound of your heart

They stain my hands like henna

Dark red, crimson and black

indelible colors

I stare at them transfixed

like one

who comes upon a body in the forest

vile, dank, and worm eaten

What is there to be done?

What is here to be said?

I demand from the sky an epitaph

words deservingly spoken

incantations of ancient healing

That shall charm from this warm earth

mantles of clay to clothe the jagged white bones

secret tongues that weave

blades of grass into soft quilts of forgetfulness

and gay March flowers to brighten your eyes

But my heart is my pound of flesh

and my words only echos

of too oft repeated platitudes

So helpless

I can only watch as you heave the corpse upon your shoulders

limping under the heavy load

I am too self-centered to run after you

I am too self-sacrificing to look away

All I can do

is steal these words from you