§ ~ It's Not Iambic Pentameter ~ §: March 2012

Sunday, March 4, 2012

Dark dungeon… her familiar cage

Stone walls echo her dripping misery…

Skittering sounds mock her ceaseless thrashing

Heartbeat darkly pounding in her useless rage

Imprisoned in filth and sweat… tortured hours on end

Haunting the blood of her fevered brain without mercy…

Three words chasing away the sleep that wants in

Piteous cry… what have I to negotiate?

What will bring peace to this suffering soul?

Does the drawer in hand’s reach promise only self-hate?

Spoon and needle… waiting in bedside table

Liquid fire to cleanse vertiginous thoughts

It’s only a hundred bloody words, girl…

Surely you are able?

Saturday, March 3, 2012

Damp cloth wipes pale cheek of night’s tears.

Gentle hands unclench spasmed fingers.

Cool linen drawn over body in silent defeat.

The battle bravely fought… now… the end of fears.

Mirrored doors close… motor hums… elevator slices through floors.

Soft thud as gravity announces… doors slide open… basement beckons.

Revenant shadows floating past… ghostly hands outstretched in plea.

Gurney wheels roll with thrum and squeak… down faded corridors.

Soft caress over cooling flesh… sheet floats in silent flight.

Bright fluorescent reflects in dark eyes… orbs unmoving.

Nostrils pinch with acrid disdain… fingers of death’s stench.

Shadow looms overhead… gloved hand holds dancing light.

Sharp sting traverses once proud chest… trailing down abdomen.

Blade whispers, swift and sure... sound chases blooded steel.

Dark red paints pale flesh…river of warmth pools in umbilical’s knot.

Unfeeling hands grasp… rending layers reveal tormented soul within.

Silent scream echoes inside her head.

Protestations unheard.

Comes the final sting.

Death’s pride has the last word…