Pure darkness sketching foward,
filling in the fear like an inky paint;
black as the tar in the lungs of a chain smoker.
Are those footsteps,
or the taunting cries of the rain
echoing through the electromagnetic spectrum?
Particles pass,
bouncing around the old, dusty corridors,
dynamic as school children giggling in the afternoon breeze
yet silent as the dancing of the forlorn trees.
The humming of birds is the laughter of druggies and drunkards,
slowly in the paranoia,
closing in just as the circumjacent walls
which grin like a pack of hyenas,
causing my breathing to spiral into a rapid rythem,
whilst nuturing the cold.
Cold which embraces my soul,
eveloping my form like a mother rocking a weeping infant,
infiltrating the muscles with a single symphony.
Alas the star rises;
my heart falls
and falls
and falls
and falls
and it lays still falling at the bottomless pit in the abyss.
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A/N
I apologize for any SPaG mistakes. I'll correct them later on.
- DT
YOU ARE READING
Vanity's metempsychosis
PoetryFor those who have ever thought they lived alone in the shadows. You were wrong.