The hazy days of January birthed her
The cold dreary dawn chanced upon her in great
disrepair.
Her
clothes soaked in the sweats of her nightmares.
She
gasped into oblivion only to embrace sleep
As though it was her lifeline to reality.
A check, she placed on her mortal skin
Lest, the scars swell from disuse.
Steps
echoed in the building
Announcing
the long-legged prim and proper lady.
She
who thought the manor was her inheritance.
Her
chest strut out
Her
linen pressed to a cut
She
ruffled her feathers to a dispute of self
Singing to her heart’s content and playing
heartily on the strings.
Glazed
over like the stained glass over the altar in the sanctuary
The trance held her captive.
She
thrashed and swore sweetly
Her voice carrying the chills of death down
the spine of each present being.
Eyes
widened, mouth gaped, breaths sharpened
Yet none could fathom what it was that had so
much to offer.
She
wished for a soul yet a hollow chest was what she got.
The
hard way she learnt of treason to the mind;
None of those hard steel rushing into the skin
It just
felt like that speeding cylindrical thingy that burns through
Searing all in its path.
The
soliloquy of life begun in the impish ways of man.
Creation
thus brought to its knees as the created dare build up falsies to begat what
was.
Folly,
Creation screams, yet her cries are naught but shrills in the dark of the night
Dare
I say the dust morsels crave the bonds of the rock?
Then,
she caresses the grains into meals of tomorrow
Cradled
deep in the vines of nature
Tassels
of the overhung cloth she pulls
Dreading
the lights that may pour in
The
paints she swore off her self
Zealous
they murder the blackness of her hollowed being
Tempting
the echoes of the strung wounds.
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