Thursday, October 20, 2016

Purge

It was leather and the fog followed her
Buckled under the loss even now
The coroner  asked her
Every decision is calculated
Even in decision

There's a message in your pocket
Still
She held on to it all these years
Clutched on cold table
Withered , the man was curious

I searched the clock
It was empty , no numbers , no faces
I couldn't remember how the day went
How I got here

I put my hand on my chest
I asked for the answer
Clutching old paper
Everything's a message
The paper was blank
The coroner read it loud

The table was cold
Ravens black .