LEFT behind and cannot spell Suicide

A small shaft of sunlight
gifted in hopes chained memory
lies against the anointed stains
Angles across a vast straining ceiling
the eyes
orbs in the damage
scan robotic this brave yet fruitless intrusion

The box vomits its collection
across the varnished smooth desert
shoals in sharp tongue
skip
slide
glide,
pile into each other
their language points upwards
rumours the gossip
listens to there pleading

Darkness, Quivers in its stealth and approach
Arm
faces in prayer
a selected saint
performs an aged ritual
Life crimson before altars decision
floods against Noahs saviour
the shaft of light
is gone
bled into a bleached darkness

how quiet
the rested painted pictures
youths eager dressed alarms
beneath now a sheeted strangers gaze
silent
no stories burnt in fires rant
or preached amongst a lustful night
as whiskey skinned screams
created then ate all delight

For I am the coward
that writes suicide
in dusty emporium plights
another root
another route
waited
as I am weighted

Love
then to be denied, love

sunlight angles across the ceiling
down the painted fool
and laughter drooling with it