There are these
Stilted Scarecrows
Jolting about
On corpse legs
Forcing their way
Into my line of
Vision
Throwing blood about
Beating on a drum
Funny
They choose not to notice
My silence
The past
Cannot be
Re-done
Re-spoken
Some wounds
Cannot heal
Until the
Scar tissue
Is erased
In another life
So desperate
For me to be
Sitting around
The fire
With you
But I remember
What those embers
Can do
I’ve collected
These Scarecrows
Though I’m really
Not certain how
Or why
They shamble around
In the dark
Just out of sight
Waiting to pounce
To stitch their bony joints
Into my hair
I’ve befriended
Murders of crows
I’ve decorated
My home
With them
Etched them
Into my bones
And yet
These Burning Eyed
Scarecrows
They find me
Clothed in dead skins
Sickles in their hands
Carved faces
Straw innards
They haunt
Ghoulish calls
Carrying clappers
And stones
They are my funeral march
Hurling perilously
Into the fires they create
Pinning me the patsy
I’ve collected
These Scarecrows
They keep hiding behind
Death masks
I do not belong
To them
But they claw
At my skin
Their past presence
Scarring my Sight
I belong to the ravens
I side with the crows
By Daphne shadows

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