Your True Grave

This is the dark room of death

Within which few have wandered

Many pushed in want to escape

Out of a window

But they cannot leave

Their hands plastered to the frame

Like a scary movie

There is a boy who has been

I married him, as he

A lone voyager from that awesome

Land informed me

Of my deficiency

Within it, you cannot breathe

As he kindly informed me

That for seven years after his father’s passing

He could not breathe

And could not see

Beyond the tattoos on his body

In this land, there is a queen

She rules over all unlikely guests

With an iron yoke across their hearts

Collectively grieving

Within her realm, there is a witch

Who drives the carriage strung by horses

With manes of gold

When you meet the witch, she will ask

For a tribute

As payment to offset her yearly taxes to the big Q

And to her you should give a piece of your heart

You see, here, is no more pain

When you have driven the knife into

Your body, you will notice you still bleed

That is okay

The bleeding is just peremptory

Once you have divided your heart into several pieces

It will begin to fall away

Deposit itself into as many corners of the land

As it can manage

Ferried away and hidden

Until you cannot locate it

But for the help of the good queen

She will ask you your name, but do not give it

She will use it to keep you chained

If there is a part of you that still breathes

Deposit yourself there, and do not go into hiding

Little by little, you will have to dig

Yourself up from under

There are many layers of sediment

So pick a good shovel

If you do not weary from the dust and the gore

You may be exorcised

Do not forget this warning