The Devil's Secretary

(Written for the "Who Has The Most Sinister Mind, Spirit, Soul"  competition


When the pins behind my eyes
Start pricking, pricking, pricking,
The dark mask draws down
And gray thoughts come thickening.

Like thunderheads blown
On the wind, wind, wind—
I unsheathe my nails
To begin the dig at my skin.

The floodgate released
And blood flows, flows, flows;
A wave of red
To the place I must go:

The walk among the graves
In silence, gives, gives, gives,
A connection to those
Who no longer live.

Ah, they’re beautiful—
Don’t you see? Don’t you see?
All of my friends here
Waiting for me.

Eliza, this time,
I’ll lay me down, down, down
At your headstone atop
The old Victorian ground.

I’ll dig my hands in
To your dirt, dirt, dirt
Where I’ll touch your white bones
And there’s no more hurt.

Your silver cord’s cut
From your soul, gone of old;
Oh Eliza, today,
You’ve made me feel whole.

I’ll document this with care
Yes you’ll see, yes you’ll see—
Like I’ve done the others, proud,
As your Devil’s Secretary.