Fallen Domain.

What was that you said to me?

How I’ve displayed acceptably,

the writer of my poetry,

the whittler of my money,

my most treasured things,

set on fire and slow burning,

a fuse attached to everything,

a gas tank that’s sputtering;

What was that you threw at me?

When neither of my hands was empty,

you knew I wasn’t at all ready,

to catch something so heavy,

my most regrettable thing,

circling the drain again,

a blue the shade of Dark Navy,

a truth stretched out too thinly;

What was that you stole away?

While I was hung up on yesterday?

the burglar of my sanity,

the rapist of my vanity,

I dare you to walk away,

to turn me into a memory,

a ghost of your pickled brain,

the host of your fallen domain.

14 thoughts on “Fallen Domain.