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Downfallen

Writer's picture: Darkling ThrushesDarkling Thrushes

Updated: Nov 12, 2023

If there is a person named Lindsey Lew

In the universe, yours truly would kill her

With the same cavalier spitefulness,

I had when last I choked her. Xmas,

Is cold, so pour yourself a drink of tears,

And listen to my Elvish craft of leers.

She had stumbled down the stairs by the light,

Of a lantern, my back was turned toward,

The cold mantle. As fast as suicide,

She shoved her breasts under my nose;

I had, in hand a pen for Christmas-wish,

Which I’d been writing with brevity to

Santa Claus. By the flicker of flames, I

Read her handwriting. In a jealous fit,

I grabbed at her arm, jostling Jesus!

And her wrath in the newborn dark, I heard,

But never saw, ‘til the hem of her robe,

Took to a new height the Old Spirit.

From her robe to the tablecloth and tree,

-Breaking glass, as I leaped to safety-

In the end, there’s nothing but fire to see.

Afterward our house, engulfed in flames,

Became hollow and hot. On a whim I

Let it burn, a beacon to those sad elves,

Whose task it’s to drag by chains a mirror,

Across the world’s sky.


__________

Copyright 2023 Jeffrey Merk

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