The Infestation of Darklings in POETRY
- June 21, 2017, 4:59 a.m.
- |
- Public
Tear open my skin and let the demons wherein feed on something other than a memory.
Sparse and splintered and chilled by ghosts; numbed yet aware, my consciousness is all I have left.
Wayfaring from flesh and a sanguineous fortress, the creatures feast upon the scabbed wasteland they have created within a shell of marrow-less bone.
Withering naked under icy rains with the palest of blue skin barely attached to the tenuous tissues emaciated to translucency; I am imprisoned. Locked in discontent within a womb of a thousand bloody ulcers echoing the sounds of laughter being devoured.
I fear not the monsters, nor the disease their teeth leave in their wake, but the inability to stand my ground in defense of my life.
My life… is it the reason for this bleeding?
I lay awake neath a dizzying darkness that blankets me from hope.
The shore surrounds a corpse blistered by the cold
Its life force infested with the unknown
Unfamiliars pillaging through bone
....... Infant births of my depression
Enjoying their new home.
By: Jaye Eryk
Copyright ©2017
Marg ⋅ June 21, 2017
Sometimes consciousness is the ultimate wound.
Exhumed By Scrying Eyes Marg ⋅ June 21, 2017
I like that, well said.
Shattered ⋅ June 21, 2017
Marg had a good point. I like this. The picture is perfect. Spooky.
Deleted user ⋅ June 22, 2017
Wow..