When She Bloomsđ„
Never a bridesmaid or a bride:
Vamps belong not in fairy tales.
All forsaken memories
Of lives they could have had,
Echo in cave of her skull;
Like an ever snoozing alarm
Trapped in a hibernation loop.
Regrets of what life could have been;
The places sheâs been over
The unattainable legend.
What a fucking trade-off!
Life isnât fair, then death.
âDeath makes matter of us all.â
Like the comfort of a hot tea
That envelopes her soul except
Instead of warmth, itâs cold.
Chill like the wind hinting snow
But without youthful rosy cheeks.
Nothing of wisdom, sagging skin,
Broken hips and bulging spine,
Never walking straight again.
The line became distorted,
And thus, she lost her way.
Never to be mourned or returned.
Like the old buck finally shot
Through the wild cross-hairs; I see:
That old buck is me.
Why does my heart like to sink
So much?
The titanic weight in her chest,
The tightness of the cavity ,
Straining itself to stop feeling painâŠ
But we can only hide the hiccup.
The pain bubbles to the surface.
Evidence of a colossal disaster so
Many years ago.
Everything we ever lost-
Started with you, Jacob.
What will her tombstone say?
âNever made it out the rabbit hole,
Too short, too fat, too proud,
Too smart for her own good, not
Intelligent enough for a happy life.
Just a burden to her own self,â
All words in the world canât describe
The pathetic beauty I once was,
And the raging icicle Iâve become;
Sealed in a narrow tomb.
O, rise dear sun, melt catastrophe;
Return forlorn life to stratosphere,
So she may rest in golden warmth
And finally find solace there.
Save her, redivivus bloom.
© Dutchess Imprada 2021
