WOODEN SHUTTERS by Sonya J Young
You curl up in the nest
that you built
from human hair, veins
and tiny bones
Guarded by angels
with concrete wings
too heavily burdened
to even think of
helping you
A black chandelier
swings above
your weary head
casting shadows on
your already
darkened dreams
You close the
wooden shutters
on their rusty hinges
and watch flakes
of old paint
flutter to the ground
A hessian dress-makers
dummy observes you
from it’s murky corner
it seems to have
more life
than you
ever had
Your heart is as black
as liquorice
but no where near
as sweet
A strange vapour
sneaks in through
the smashed
window panes
deep into your lungs
and you take your
very last breath
on this sorry earth
