Agitated inkA Poem by SilentVersesMy chassis is being filled with a terror, I can taste it in my bile, it's tearing through my core and choking me with soil.
Listen:
can you hear? Such pitiful screeches. My harpies have been locked away, yet hear them beg for escape. I won't allow them a feast, not tonight. The moon is pregnant, my harpies are in terror, debating over when bloodied birth will pour from darkened illumination. If I feed the key, into abandoned hole, that fear will become me. I don't want that, because it itches. It burns upon my diaphanous exterior. Scratching at the seams, the thread keeps catching on my thorns. Every pull brings serenity down as a veil. (I'm a bride to relief.) There's agitation in my marrow, no detectable meat; just commotion, filling me with sickness. Burning acid that chokes, forcing asphyxiation. Off me hatred! It's obsessing upon my membranes. But I want it gone. Turn blind eye to turmoil it bangs behind my lids; painting me with crimson ink. Creating doors to slam I vomit the harpies. They harassed their way through my steeled interior. Upon the floor they appear coated in honey; syrupy flood, they lap at themselves. I turn in disgust and, see cracks running through walls. Deterioration licks a trail through my retinas. Aroma of decomposition. Gaze down, a hole of confusion, where beating self should be. My harpies snicker, gorging themselves on bulging mass of gore. The key shredded hope and feathers. Now I drift below the murky depths of a forgetful lake and sink into paranoia's indifference. © 2011 SilentVersesFeatured Review
Reviews
|
Stats
717 Views
14 Reviews Shelved in 3 Libraries
Added on June 27, 2011Last Updated on June 27, 2011 AuthorSilentVersesHong KongAboutI adore reading, it is where my love for the written word has originated from. My favourite writers are Sylvia Plath, Fyodor Dostoevsky, j.d sallinger,Ken Kesey, Primo Levi and Virginia woolf. I exp.. more..Writing
|