Ace Of Black Hearts
Locked Away In His Own Mind
The agony of this stress.
A monotonous task.
The barer of bad news.
Signed crosses, set clues.
Comatose with laced black shoes.
Dressed for the day of the dead.
Voices keep screaming its all in your head.
Images framed and faded.
Sadness deepens and escalates.
A melancholy in the pouring rain.
Mentally stable but in vain.
Suiting a fancy.
Suiting a desperation.
A mind made of glass.
And it shatters so sudden, so fast.
Nothing to say, words so silent and still longing.
A ghost still haunting this empty cabin.
A rocking chair that ever stirs.
How is one to soothe this anguished soul?
If it could even be possible.
Dreams of darker side.
Visions that bring us both together to the divide.
Joining hands in a mass suicide.
Loss and love that intertwines.
A belief in something deeper.
Dungeons without there keepers.
Roaming and wandering with no direction.
Conclusions with no perspective.
Sensitivity to that which leaves the imagination in question.
Orders abandoned with no purpose or objective.
A dissection to very pale complexion.
Colorless, emotionless, stunned and completely numb.
Sticking your head under the axe waiting for executioner to bring it down.
But it never comes.
So you look on with a blank and empty stare.
Your right to assume he isn't all there.
So far gone, in another universe, in another reality separated by pain and disgrace.
No comfort could console this broken spirit.
The senses leave his body absolute motionless.
A tube stuck down his throat for he does not desire nourishment.
Anything solid is regurgitated, yet in no way is he physically disabled.
He is zombie without basic instincts.
He torn between two separate worlds.
Not allowed to leave his mortal being.
A field bitter, barren, yet filled with foot of snow.
If only he had a way to become completely unglued.
Wishes, potions to subdue.
Legal documents white washed of his desires.
Coined phrases leaving him attached to wires.
A unwanted frozen life without any point in still living.
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(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
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Edgar Allan Poe
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