Confess that bed bedeviled with lassitude
Encumbers the body rooted to ground of ash
Procession of the soul harangued to death
Thick ropes of hair sprawl on the cold limbs
A strand swells and strains the lips, says “sshhhhh . . . “
Eyes known of crime are shut in its cavern
Strangulated expiation of the forlorn heart
Venomous claws of the constant, infuse all blue
Specked and tattooed with the dark and sewn
Blackmailed into surrender by the fear of fate
The will is murdered, robbed you of your spine
Curl up into bull’s eye targeted by flawless time
Crime is not to have a life
But have nothing to live for
©Written Frames, 2018
Written Frames 