the mortal dead

No, by all means stay

I cannot bear to see you

Walk out of the citadel

Lay bare my weaknesses

On the altar of the pointing finger.

You will leave behind

A thirsting heart

A morose, living dead

There will be no after;

The past will succumb

Into memories,

A little strewn here,

A few photos there.

I may not have been kind,

Or, even given you

The last drop of water

To satiate the longing

I may not have been warm,

Accepting you 

For your creases,

Yet, know

You will forever be my

Favourite corner

In the broken alley

Which now lie scattered

Alongside the graves of

The mortal dead.