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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Dark · #1729960
Death to what was my soul.
Misery grips me tight about the throat
Constricting the will out of me
Bleeding the happiness in me

My neck squeezes and bulges
About misery’s fingers
And my panting shortens
To small inaudible breaths
Colors swim across my eyes
Sparks drift

I see misery’s face
Much like death
I wonder at my own
Red and puckered
Eyes searching misery with weary apprehension

Then with a final determination
I grab myself about the throat
Wishing him to hurry
My hands over his
Fingers intertwined
And press
All turns to black and I collapse
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