TW: Violence/Gore, Death, Mental Illness, Disturbing Imagery, Creepy Dolls and Animals, Existential Dread/Despair.
(Though it's definitely different from my usual style, as we near the end of this book, I wanted to embrace a bit of creativity. This is what emerged from that journey.)
In the cradle of the night, the eyeballs bloom,
Feeding on the silence of a blood-soaked room.
The spiders spin a web from children's screams,
While maggots feast on dying angel dreams.
A doll with shattered eyes whispers lies,
As snakes with paper wings devour the skies.
A mother's shadow screams with stitched-up cries,
Her fingers sprout, a forest of goodbyes.
The floorboards creak beneath the weight of dread,
As faceless clocks drip acid on the dead.
The ceiling's mouth gapes wide, the stars turn red,
A lullaby of knives hums in my head.
The walls inhale the scent of broken minds,
Where rats in wedding gowns parade as brides.
In the mirror's vomit, sanity unwinds,
The darkness laughs, its teeth like rusted binds.
In the garden of the damned, the roses rot,
Their petals, tongues that taste of what forgot.
A heartbeat skips, then falls into a knot,
And meaning chokes on the abyss, distraught.
YOU ARE READING
Echoes of the Unspoken
PoetryHere lies a collection of poems, scattered like leaves, shared in the hope that someone might find solace and know they are not alone in their turmoil. Beware, for these poems are not for the faint of heart; they arise from the darkest recesses of m...
