We conjure demons when we’re exposed.
The quiet tongues that steal all light.
There is still calm in driving, sad songs,
But there’s nowhere to go, anymore.
I lay Hope in her satin finery in a glass coffin.
We ooh and aah over death with a silver lining.
Faith kissed me once, softly, on a winter afternoon.
That moment is lost, and she’s gone to the war.
Charity, works the nightshift, never sleeps well,
And even in the evening, she is too busy to talk.
Try and soothe this thing, this worm undying,
This gnawing of thoughts, leaving dreams raw, ragged.
Without them, without the tenderness they gave,
Or the shared jokes, the morning meals, anything at all.
A room with no drunkenness or intoxicants, only a fire,
That is remorseless and understood all too well.
Exposed, like a moth to the board, the demons come,
Wisps of sulfur are a mercy in the smoked glass killing jar.