Her voice leaks with emblazoned fury.
His words fall, fettered with purpose.
They leave the door closed,
the curtain remains drawn.
The walls are slaves
to the demands of the righteous
They gaze upon youth's face
She strikes first, but he strikes last.
Gripped and coiled,
locked and determined,
the walls contain their lust.
The walls contain the torrents
of irreparable motivation.
They gaze upon the withering mirror
Torn between the countenance
created from joyous union
and magnetic repulsion.
The crows around them reject their gifts.
The crows call out endlessly without song.
They can only watch the murder's movements.
Their eyes are gone
Yet they still gaze
They see this sunken pit
This forgotten place
This hallowed grove
This trembling blaze
Yet they pick and claw
At the flesh made veil
Their eyes can't see
But still they can witness
And so they collapse at last
Hopelessly in love
YOU ARE READING
Lines
RandomA mess of stuff that won't fit elsewhere. Some are pretty absurdist, no direct continuity unless stated (doubtful on that, these are meant to be one-off poems/stories). I like to explore different styles of writing in small works like this, so some...
