The Crow's Call

Clammy clenched fists fighting the flood.
Do not feel for me for soon I shall lie down in the dust
And be nothing more than bruises bound in blood.
The iron in it making metals rust.
Those that believe in love lost the language of it long ago.
A lie to lead on the lingering while I hesitate to hold on hope now
Cancer calls to me, swooping silently as my feelings are followed by the crow.
A vigilant villain it is to vehemently voice my vow.
Its cold call careens down my neck, nullifying the heart inside me.
Murky marks mould my mind, fused, flicking and filthy I can’t find the word I wanted.
It comes in time like a faithful mutt licking my hand reminding me to be free
That dog like my dream is dead, remaining only for me to be haunted.
It is not a joyous journey to act jovial yet play the part of the hated.
The hurt hits harder every day as the normal things I cannot cry for crack.
To be alone, always, is that why I was created?
It’s beneath me, below the skin to stay. Soon all I will see is black.
My stare fixed on the sun as I slowly turn to ash, the air taking me away.
The bird flies on the breeze as I do now. Guiding this ghost to its grave.
The old hound halts on the hill hoping to obey.
It never learnt that this soul was not one he could save.