A Holy Thing Poem by Charles Malcolm

You're bad wallpaper.

Something to stare at
with four eyes
as the poison
courses through my veins.

An image
forever tied to an emotion
that I'd like to forget
ever feeling.

Something that I would have
papered my entire house in
before you forced me
to peel
it off.

Vampires are lucky.
They can feed on others.
We gotta eat away at ourselves.

Always,
the turn.

You were the only one
who absorbed my blood
and my tears
and I kissed your feet
and you made me
believe.

Not in myself
but in something
unbelievable.



You were fine wallpaper.

Forgive me.