The seniors of Salem
Wouldn't quite stop screaming
As a million voices
Seemed to come out of her
Head at once with a glow
I didn't know what to
Do, so I sat on her
She told me, in all of
Her thousands of dark tones
To make use of myself
And stop crushing her bones
But I did not so stop
She felt nice to sit on
So when she said no more
And couldn't go on, why
I let out a smile
Making myself at home
In her longer ribcage
The voices were gone now
They stopped muttering things
That's splendid, I figured
I just needed to make
Homes inside the dead spleen.
YOU ARE READING
Incoherent Poetry from the Depths
Horror(The painting in the cover is by painter Nicola Samori) Do y'ever just wish to feel the chills of the ethereal down your spine? Have you wondered what life is like outside your material universe? Did you ever posit the idea, that a good bout of uns...
