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Rated: E · Poetry · Gothic · #1701782
Written exactly one year ago. Ended a writer's block that soon overtook me again.
Your awkward mist lingers on
Centuries after you’ve gone
Every time I think of your death
It tears me to shreds
And a deathly, glowing vision of myself
With no face
Is violently born in the mirror
The way you traveled back in time
The way the project went awry
When the cicadas just ate you alive
Buzzing a tortured, satanic rhyme
Screaming a final, electric goodbye
I sat alone to watch you die
For doing naught, I apologize
But a festered prophet handed me knives
And whispered to gouge your gothic eyes
To bury your carcass in alien shrines
With undead fingers
But a pious mind
Sweet nightmares, little one
© Copyright 2010 Saichairí Mac Dáibhídh (ballofbase at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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