Shu

The rotted carrion,
picked clean from your bones between
concrete walls
where no one can witness
the things you did, or the things you saw
to be handed this inequitable fate;
the one you reaped upon your own
motherless grave...
--How unsettling

to have boyhood gripped from beneath the groin,
while the sirens played you like
a tempo-less tune
whistling whimpers of misconstrued enigma;
you voyaged purpose.
And the crimson was drained from your heart,
and la nuestra familia caroused
with the walking wounded well.
Till the hands that fed bit back with lethal sting,

a lack lustre mind was yours, brother.
Even the ignorant know
kamikazes don't commit acts of suicide
to their own,
and not every guilty soul can claim their spot in Hades.
But not all blind see
as the invalids see,
and you were corrupted evermore
by the red paisley of a new brotherhood.

Picked apart clean
now, by wasted moments of life not spent,
singing calmly
your most dreary lament,
and creating warmth against the cold hard corners
of a restless crypt.
Though perhaps there is no heaven.
and perhaps you may not rest.
Charging through life like turning corners too quick.