Work Text:
This. This is what you wanted.
To burn yourself out of the door.
You couldn’t bear to leave my house unhaunted.
Brown stain of cheeks and parchment: this lot in life I have adopted
of mud-soaked second bests bought out of worn-down used bookstores.
This. This is what you wanted.
Yet at night I ache inside myself and feel that I am taunted
by the flames which crackled words of pain throughout the gilded moor.
You couldn’t bear to leave my house unhaunted.
This burning skin and flesh that murmurs at me in my soul. Its knotted
verses say, “We hate you, Shape of Death over our coals!”
This. This is what you wanted.
The battles with my memories of childhood have costed
me a thousand years of guilt for going back on what I swore.
You couldn’t bear to leave my house unhaunted.
You! You lusted crack of that whose wanton
search for fuel did burn my bloodied past into a whore.
This. This is what you wanted.
You couldn’t bear to leave my house unhaunted.