Scrape Wisdom

"This is what you owe the dead."
Again and again.

Tendons stretched and strangled. 
Face poured flesh from head. 
A Family's ties are mengled like 
mother falling out of dead. 

This is what I know: 
Blue faced efforts that fail to reveal the color of her shadow. 

My sense caught in a stone's throw and cleaner slates that keep track of all the baggage I tow. 
Scrape wisdom of the tomb. 
Early morning scars from masks shed in favor of never, or is it forever? 

A mourning lost to secrets I'll never erase.