no child left behind

scribbled it down
on the nape of her neck
a heart shaped world
before she disappeared
through his fingers
the creator weeps
crestfallen
estranged
from ideal
intention
the start of it all
descends
digging for dark
to fill the holes
left by the light
cigarette
in the devil’s bed
after the deed is done
sold his soul
for the sake of a heart
betrayed
a world displaced
from its moorings
drowning
in a lake of fire
so hot
all memory is gone
and in its place
smiles
the happy new horde
behold the creator
to have and to hold
even if the creator
like stolen goods
is recirculated
like new
only spattered with patchwork
dark
in the place of holes
left in light’s wake