Carpe Diadem in POETRY

Sitting, legs folded in trigonometric degrees in torn dungarees; my knees free and facing nimbus skies. My mind entombed in bone, echoing loud; synapses firing under electric clouds.

Not quite the meditative profound, encircled in metaphoric frown; spine-tingling cold…
- weighing
- my shoulders
- down.

My happy place; a desolate and devoid wasteland. Dust littered grounds and gardens of filth; darkness everlasting.

A twitch, a tinge, a wretch, a cringe… fingers bent and muscles crimped. Metaphysical fingers infiltrate my flesh.

The Raven came rapping, and I felt a tapping, a tapping on my spinal cord. I am alone, I know, but my senses do not fail. Unearthed… my heart and soul turn sickly pale.

Closed, my eyes widen looking inside. Nothing to behold, nothing but cold interlacing my spinal cord.

Restlessness… it creeps, like goose bumps within’ my skin. Overcast sunlight diminishing; this is a battle I’ll never win.

The cobwebbed corner of broken thoughts, overgrown with thorny vine, my knees retreat within’ my jeans, hoping to be cuddled with love divine.

My arms can not reach my legs below, suffering with paroxysmic itch; it’s as if insects march upon my bones.

I feel its fingers in my back, the slow parade, the lonely attack.

Hollowness and toothy grin, a single tear dost begins…

… its trek down sunken cheek.

… I’ve lost all strength, mentally; I’m physically weak.

I turn my head to follow the sounds… of voices crying, but nothing, nothing abound.

It’s the sound of dying, I recognize

It’s the sound…

of

me.

By: Jaye Eryk
Copyright ©2017

Last updated September 22, 2017