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I took a poetry class last term for a twofold purpose. I could help my brother with his poetry if I learned how it was written, and maybe learning the writing of it would help me understand it.

To my surprise, I learned I have a knack for it. Me, a natural at poetry. That's a scary thought.

My first poems of the term, though, also happens to be my favorite. Some of you know that I happen to like gothic things, and I found that also applied to gothic poetry. I gave my teacher what he called the weirdest treatment of multiculturalism he'd ever seen in a set of poems about a young female presbyterian lycan being rescued by a vampire.

That's not the gothic poem I'll share here, though; no, "Rehinged" is much better. But people who are easily creeped out, be warned!

(Thanks to Jellen for making me realize I could post this with her more recent post. )

Rehinged
Her blood trails slowly down the wall
As the hands reach, grab after me.
Are they hands? What is that cold--
Wait, that's the metal of Mum's old
Knife. That's what they grab and want,
As if I really am that errant.
Kill myself? What good would that do?
Take it--I took it from Mum, too.
She thought it would be better that way,
To hide the dark of another day.
You might question my sanity,
But her blood still cools in the hall.

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