19^th Gothic Breakdown

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Dear heart,

Claiming passion.

Do you feel so clever,

Leading me to this denouement?

Even the least-attentive reader guessed

I was a zero-dimensional character

In your poor, obscure Gothic mystery.

Gossamer-in-chill-breeze window dressing,

Afterthought of a hastily written bit part,

Knowing I’m soon to be killed off

In one of its last three chapters,

Requiring a mere sharpened phrase stabbed in my back.

Though I see what’s coming, I wander around,

Just to keep implausible plot moving forward.

Dreary castle, dim, guttering torchlight…

Playing my part to its fullest.

For when blood axe falls, erasing

Your need for me, chasing aloof hero, I’ll wait,

Rusted chains clanking, spectral memory…

A constant nightly reminder

Of what you might have had:

Substance, form, not

Nightmares.