dandelion,
This monochromatic confinement has always been my haven
The four-cornered depiction of dullness
Reeking of antiseptic.
My pale complexion,
Complementing the faded sheets of my deathbed.
My only source of light,
The chilly fluorescents gleaming
And a constant visitor
Stalling my impending end.
For a decade I’ve wondered
If pills and stitches hold the answer,
To finally escape the constraints of this sickness
And see the colors even just for a day
However, the reaper always comes for his dues...
At the time you least expect it
In between the sun descending and the moon rising,
That twilight, when the sky turns into the darkest shade of blue,
When the infant moon
Reflects off razor-sharp steel…
Psychedelic laughter echoes.
The hooded figure starts chanting my name
An agonizing lullaby
Singing me to eternal slumber.
As death himself approaches,
I find myself drowning in his hollow sockets.
His chant continues
Accompanied by shrieks and cries.
No matter my pleas, he will never withdraw.
The owner of the night looks down
The grin on his lips
Almost in contact with my quivering ones.
“I’ve come from Hell for you,” he whispers into my ear.
As his foul, rotten stench envelops me, caresses me…
On my knees, I beg him not, yet he refuses.
I feel the warm wetness of blood trickle down my leg…
I feel his cloak surround me, as if it were mine, I wear it…
And I taste the maggot-ridden air of his being.
As I listen to the weakening beat of my heart
Seemingly a pendulum of a worn-out clock
I am hit by an overwhelming wave of nostalgia,
A vivid picture of a haven that I took for granted.
Now I wish for nothing but to return
Back to my monochromatic confinement
To savor the reek of antiseptic
Even to lifelessly lay on my deathbed
Literary: A Grim Twilight
This monochromatic confinement has always been my haven
The four-cornered depiction of dullness
Reeking of antiseptic.
My pale complexion,
Complementing the faded sheets of my deathbed.
My only source of light,
The chilly fluorescents gleaming
And a constant visitor
Stalling my impending end.
For a decade I’ve wondered
If pills and stitches hold the answer,
To finally escape the constraints of this sickness
And see the colors even just for a day
However, the reaper always comes for his dues...
At the time you least expect it
In between the sun descending and the moon rising,
That twilight, when the sky turns into the darkest shade of blue,
When the infant moon
Reflects off razor-sharp steel…
Psychedelic laughter echoes.
The hooded figure starts chanting my name
An agonizing lullaby
Singing me to eternal slumber.
As death himself approaches,
I find myself drowning in his hollow sockets.
His chant continues
Accompanied by shrieks and cries.
No matter my pleas, he will never withdraw.
The owner of the night looks down
The grin on his lips
Almost in contact with my quivering ones.
“I’ve come from Hell for you,” he whispers into my ear.
As his foul, rotten stench envelops me, caresses me…
On my knees, I beg him not, yet he refuses.
I feel the warm wetness of blood trickle down my leg…
I feel his cloak surround me, as if it were mine, I wear it…
And I taste the maggot-ridden air of his being.
As I listen to the weakening beat of my heart
Seemingly a pendulum of a worn-out clock
I am hit by an overwhelming wave of nostalgia,
A vivid picture of a haven that I took for granted.
Now I wish for nothing but to return
Back to my monochromatic confinement
To savor the reek of antiseptic
Even to lifelessly lay on my deathbed
0 comments: