[untitled]

there are beasts in the winter of my heart

psychotic ruminations blasting me from sleep with perilous laughter

it's this laughter that scares me choking from slumber

 a cackle no man would think could eminate from his own throat

for it can't be

no pleasured demon holds that timber

the soulless have more glee, for they have nothing, nor fear

the damned have answers, and are the better for the less tomorrows

a dead trees crick has more the joy than this evil utterance

though it can't be

it leaves a taste, this frightful gurgitation

an awful bile ripe with the reek that death is hier to

the fetid stench that dead dreams pool into

a rotted sound erupting from my depths

it won't let me be

 

 

 

Author's Note

be cruel, i just peeled this off, so it's not like i'm really attached to it.