Unfinished Poem

In this unfinished poem
your empty stares
still lingers to pillage
every mellifluous words
and the superfluous revelries
malingered on its way
to be spewed and
to pierce the veil

And the memories,
they osculate to brew
the bitterness that shall
wear out the young bones
that remember every shudder
of your melancholia

The persiennes remained
shut down and afraid
and I can never pull them up;
this will be the crowded room
where the tarantula
feeds on itself