to edgar

i listen
in the silence
for that
telltale heart
his glass eye
staring at me
in dream
while he begged
me to not place
the last brick
before the house
split asunder
and all that remained
was the wind
calling her name
the ravens pecking
at the door
as the nobles burn
covered in pitch
beneath the chandelier
of gold bugs
and apes
commiting crimes
masques and amontillado
all swirl
in the madness
that itches
the back of my brain
in poem and in prose
all because of you

the raven flies
upon ebon wings
the clock tells lies
as the pendulum swings
wilted flowers in a vase
weeping as skies turn gray
candle light, bloodstained lace
a dreary scene for poe’s birthday

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