Collection

Locked away in a box
that i keep hidden behind my heart
lie all the pieces i've torn out...
Memories buried and burned
yet the ashes remain
and when the wind blows
the dry blackness swirls through me.
Here i hold anger
and hate--
all those times i screamed
and you never heard a sound
as i fell
twisted in my emotion.
Here lives emptiness
and the breath that whispers
through all the holes....
I miss you.
And the scarlet letter,
that, too, is mine
burned into my memories
an underlying shame
that bleeds crimson
when i do.
Here lies my collection
brushed with dust
yet never fading,
lovely and silent
deadly and foreboding
pinned to the wall
like a death's head moth...