They'll Tell Me

They'll tell me. I hope they should.

The old king, the beautiful queen, the speaking sword,

the blinding shield, the phantom armor, the hidden cloak,

and all the tremulous crowd of fantasy lore.

They'll tell me.

The dark times are there still,

but not nearly as many as before,

like shadows receding beneath a sun,

that eventually wanes and sets itself.

That deep and murky era is highlighted hideously,

by willing and pathetic self-destruction.

Where cuts and openings in my skin would

bleed small drops and become highlighted by hot pink skin.

I would mark me the crying man,

more a child though, more a child.

The pain, it would give me a stinging distraction,

Too much life, I was spent.

A demon in a mansion

gripped to a gutter overlooking a town in the rain.

I could fall any moment

and the roof itself

wanted to collapse beneath the rain and the thunder.

I maintained, I survived that storm.

But the weight of the thunder will return and I'll want it again,

a bloody portal away from the iron pillars

on my narrow shoulders.

This will help me, the font and the keyboard.

Every word and every letter is hope

along with the beasts in my daydreams fueling me.

They'll tell me.

They'll sing to me,

They tell me,

You're okay.