You are afraid of the light that burns inside you like an unborn child A thousand tiny spiders gnawing at your bones You are cautious of the wind that brings a plague upon its wing A fetid, ebon miracle like a monster in the clouds that swallows cruel men whole You are sure that something's breeding there Your body is not your own And the sky is full of tumors that terrorize the soul You inhale the song of the universe Fall asleep inside its chaotic womb You find refuge in a lullaby as the cancer chews away The stars shed light that blinds your eyes Your home is the darkness of a dream A coldness in the white, obscene infinity
We cling to childhood That epileptic dance Of chaos and lace A fire burning In the face of madness Where the death bell tolls each midnight: The lonely sound Of a heartbeat
You wear your crown so perfectly both saints and sinners weep. You whisper dirge songs in your sleep while the blood runs warm, still, in your veins. You shed your skin in hopes to join your lover in the grave, To save your mortal soul from the heat of a burning flame. You play the martyr much better than I. There's a sacrifice I'm not willing to make. But, aren't we all like lambs to the slaughter, hobbling about on broken knees? Our demon seed strewn over this doomed land. Bodies splattered across the threshold of paradise. Morgues and graveyards fill to excess. And I am left to clean up the mess.
Stephanie Smith is a poet and writer from Scranton, Pennsylvania. Her work has appeared in such publications as PIF MAGAZINE, WHISTLING SHADE, NOT ONE OF US, THE HORROR ZINE, ILLUMEN, and LIQUID IMAGINATION. She can be found on Twitter @horrorsteph78 or at imajican.blogspot.com.
If you enjoyed this story, you may also enjoy Five Dark Poems by Damon Hubbs.
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