My Shame

My shame collects itself from dusty corners,

Frightening the fake gods and the mourners.

It looks through fingers, crumpling my own soul,

Crushing light so tight it turns to coal.

This black dust rains onto the fearful crowds.

“Take back your gloom, don’t you make a sound.”

I still remember how they let me sink,

Water in my nose, no boats or wings.

Their screams disperse in air like autumn mist –

Each one of them once made it on my list.

Now they get to taste these fruits of labour

And I’ll reign like god but never as their saviour.