You have been wicked.
Done wicked things,
Thought wicked thoughts,
Dreamt wicked dreams.
Now standing above your
Own body, you smile a
Wicked smile; remembering-
Licking your lips over, it all.
The ground beneath you,
Swirls into liquid dark,
Veins of fire crackling, an
Abyss, tunneling downward.
You slip, and slip, and slip.
Wondering where it ends.
You hit what feels like deep,
Rushing, water, and submerge.
Red. Orange. White.
Your eyes burn, your lungs.
All of you, burns.
Then you surface.
Smoke billowing from your lips.
Drifting from the corners of your
Unfocused, burning eyes;
Searching for some clarity.
Neck deep in a river.
Four legged men, guarding.
Up and down the entire bank,
Brandishing spears of pure fire.
Tips so white hot;
Tipped with stars.
Blinding, beautiful, painful;
As you would discover.
With fire splashing between
Your fingers, you swim for shore.
As you reach out and touch it,
White hot pain sears through you.
A star sears though you.
Four legs, one arm; thrust out,
Deep red eyes scolding you,
And then, the memories.
Wicked memories.
From tormented perspective.
Through their eyes, through their
Pain, you relive your wickedness.
Each and every one.
Replaying faster, faster, faster-
Fire searing in the hurt;
Polished, perfect like black glass.
Replayed ten, twenty,
a hundred million times, infinite...
Your mind trapped, and body
Utterly unaware of its reactions.
Your quivering hand, releases.
Sinking neath the wash of flames-
Deeper, your warden holding fast.
Still impaled by a star, you sink.
Enveloped by the great pyre,
Time irrelevant, self irrelevance,
In the rushing river of heat.
Surrounded by the more wicked.
Specters of men, white hot stars
Running though them; smiling.
Enraptured by their deeds.
Slowly becoming the river.
Smoke and embers rising up,
From their eyes and grins.
You still trapped in your own Wickedness, curl in upon yourself;
Tears escaping and running
Down ashen lashes, evaporating,
Into the great inferno.
Your adjunct captor bows.
Free from the pain of stars,
You remain fetal, disjointed.
Oblivious you are being carried.
A great hand of flame.
It carries you, coddles you
In its palm downstream.
Still; you weep, sob,
At having felt your own evil.
The great hand gently releases.
You no longer feel stars, and fire,
But cold; ice cold water envelop.
Tears freezing to your cheeks.
YOU ARE READING
Blank Spaces
PoetryAn emotive journey through the empty places we visit but never want to see. The pain, the heartbreak, trying to see hope in places there may be none. And the secrets, and yes there are always secrets. Can you see them in this dark empty space? So it...
