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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Supernatural · #1528841
You can never tell what you may find at an old bookshop...
Book of the Damned

A nightmare image penned in ink
falls from a book, tattered and torn.
Long forgotten, stained with years,
it bears an imprint that is borne
upon a deteriorating parchment sheet.

Within I find a message inscribed
wrought by a hand chaotically
that describes the owner's demise
from this ancient portal warningly
with broken thoughts, now incomplete.

Infectiously, the ink turns red
and flows into my vein.
A numbing feeling spreads
and noises echo in my brain.
A clamor never ending.

Voices crying incantations
from a place within my fears.
I hold the aged paper tight and
watch it stain with tears.
A darkness now descending.

I see my soul melt in the falling drops
trapping me in an image embossed
as I slowly disappear from this plane
into a world of nightmares and  chaos.
Damned with no hope of relief.

I am sentient lines upon a page;
a tortured picture that is myself.
And so I will forever remain
until I am removed from the shelf.
An image of eternal grief.



Notes
Prompt: "ancient portal"

Thank you for reading my words... Please take a moment and leave a comment... criticisms, reactions, "attaboys".. all are equally welcome *Smile*

Ken

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