closing time

this manic word depot
of mine
sees visitors
but few
that ever stop
fewer that care to speak
it is a lonely place
filled
with the echoing taint
of depression

is it healthy
giving form to despair
shedding one’s soul
into silence

it is
a near zero return
upon
emotional investment
divesting
the darkness
in these placid waters
of latent remorse

the only answer
to silence
is a quieting
of one’s self
it would seem

so unto
the raven’s black flight
to dive deep
into the molten core
of never more
with silken stitches
to bind
trembling lips
to hush
the whispered moans

flipping the sign
on the door

to closed

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