Here I am again.

Not where I sit,
listening to the sirens
and water fall,

here, is in my mind.

Thoughts of her fill my mind and
make me want to cry in anguish.
Cry into my lifeblood
as it leaves.

Like she made me leave,
to flow onto the concrete and change
shape. No longer
a man, a husband, but
something without form or meaning.

A pool left to dry
and be worn away by the wind
until all that is left
is the outline of what
once was.

I’ve been here before,
cast to the wind as dust.
I just never imagined her hand
being the one to cut the vein.

About Fatesjoke

You can now find me and my stuff at www.fatesjoke.com
This entry was posted in Poems, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

5 Responses to Dust

  1. janflora says:

    “to flow onto the concrete and change/shape” is a great image. Haunting and sad.

  2. imaginationzombie says:

    Lovely, Lost, and very undead.

    This line:

    until all that is left
    is the outline of what
    once was.

    Reminds me of when officers or forensics outline the body in chalk on the road or sidewalk. Sometimes I think the times we feel lost are the times we are most alive. It’s when we are most adaptable, and isn’t life about being able to adapt?

  3. Kavita says:

    The last couple of lines were simply AMAZING !!!
    A chilling story… For some reason, after the second last stanza (A pool left to dry…), I was reminded of some CSI episode wherein the guy killed people and left them in their bathtubs, their blood now dry, but showing a running into the drain.. brrr… creepy!
    I really enjoyed reading this one…

  4. wondrinsoul says:

    Such powerful emotions! Such vivid imagery! Pure dark pleasure…

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