the mortal dead

No, by all means stayI 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.