Phantom Pain (For A Goth) Poem by James McLain

Around me, all around, angels fallen gather.
My dread grows as the angry hand of Heaven falls
against my naked filthy soul.

And it crushes all the juice he,
left inside me, and at this my darkest hour,
His dirty snow now drips into the thirsty earth.

If I was a man, a man I am not, so in all
My madness, I fall limply in the dirt.
Without a sound.

While Death's shadow follows me around,
Beneath my gown.
Now alone, my soul falls upon a spear that's
Made of stone.
Because I am a Goth and it's the pain, I'm
All about.

This my dear departed is because you died
And left me here to think of you.
When instead a single bullet could have passed
Through both our head's.