i sighed as i dragged the bloody hand
towards my waiting closet,
blood dripping
and staining my shiny floor.
but who cares?
it's my mess.
the shadows are dancing behind the curtains,
the birds are singing the forgotten hymn,
and the vultures are knocking on my windowpane.
who would have thought they would pay me a nice visit?
i made them a fine dinner for them to feast.
blood dripping and staining my bedsheets,
greedy growls comes from the envious beasts,
but the vultures only ate with gusto and crisp.
the face of the meat is unrecognizable,
his green green eyes is popping out of their sockets,
and his red red lips spluttering his voiceless pleads.
who would have thought this guy would be dead–
in my hands... in my bed...
but who cares?
it's my mess.
i made this mess,
and bloody hell–
i loved it.
the vultures left me with naught but the bones,
so i returned it back to my closet.
no blood dripped nor stained my floor,
for the vultures have cleaned the mess.
another skeleton is added in my closet,
another name to be buried,
and another memory to be forgotten–
but who cares?
it's my mess.
BINABASA MO ANG
Snowdrops of Poetry
Poetry"maybe later, or much more later, the moon will finally give you the right to be with them once more, just like before." - The Stars are Winking at You Tonight this is my poetry.
