My reflection is a windswept wash of gray hues
With all light emanating from the ground, imbued in reddish browns.
My eyes water on days like this;
I'm glad it's raining
I coalesce well within penumbras since I live in pockets of open space
My voice, a whisper... my moves subtle; when I shift, I do it slow like a flesh covered tectonic plate.
The only radiating sound is the whimper my heart makes
But that merely attracts a mosquito or three
I bleed for them, and they steal from me.
It's the story of all my relationships passed.
Everything is hardened and dour;
It’s that time of year;
When the outside temperatures match the cold I feel inside
Warmth cannot exist in such a necropolis
Every few months, a new scar… somewhere… a condemned heart;
Its gaping wounds never mending.
I’ve washed several times, but cannot rid the blood from my hair and hands;
These pants… I should have worn black.
My mind is befogged, riddled with nightmares and despair.
Cello’s war, with violins to score the cessation of sensation
As my emaciated hands have a grip on nothing but my own throat.
So I trudge through sublunary twilight;
While Rod Serling looks upon this noir with a tight-lipped grin.
Never before seen on a monochromatic screen
The true demise and bloodletting accompanied by gur..g.l.ed… s.cr.ea.ms
A fingertip graces the red-stained silk lining of heaven
Before I’m dragged away
kicking and screaming
Unknowingly signing convention
With the blood that I have callously ejected
The Devil, now… will torture & rape me of sin
Because even in death… I simply can’t win.
By: Jaye Eryk
Copyright ©2008
