I spill ink crow tarot tracks
across a page trying to
write lemons into lemonade,
but there’s nothing pretty
in a journal of bruises.
Among sticks and stones,
broken bones, and vinegared potions
of all’s sunny in hell my Gothic Care Bear
muses keep quoting Stephen King,
“The Devil’s voice is sweet to hear.”
My verses are cruel, yet somehow delightful.
I can be the beast in beautiful, knife in a heart
when my humor is the syrup of sharp teeth.
I don’t play well with faux anything.
I get more thrills in celebrating Halloween
than a sugar-coated Valentine’s Day
filled with undying confessions of love
shopped from a grocery store aisle.
Any way you shuffle me I will always rise with black feathers.
Isn’t it good to be honest?
©Susie Clevenger 2024
Shay's Word Garden Word List ~ Full Dark, No Stars
