Day Ten.
I can smell the mandrake in your veins
Thick as molasses and light as a sea breeze;
It runs from your cracked edifice like a deluge
Of cold glances cast down lonely roads
Caught only by the spider’s web
Left to the whimsy of the wind;
But theses white walls
Will not be washed clean of me.
No bleach nor paint will draw me from the cracks
That keep this house whole
Because the fibers of the brick thatched roof
Has been slowly woven into me
This macabre patchwork of my being
Has been interlocked like the roots
Of a mandrake that stretches out
Like a child’s hands
Reaching out for the nightshade
Not knowing what this shadow will bring.
Mandrake melody sing not too loud
As the fire consumes you
Some sacrifices were necessary, my darling
And the dark was closing in before the day was done
What was I supposed to do?