Call It a Comeback
I won't ask one question,
just stab my pen in
and draw out the ink,
nothing will stop my flow
with crimson words
and chunky verses.
The night is dark
and streaked with grey.
Mist swirls around my ankles
like a lovers caress.
The moon is up there
but hidden
a true hunter's nite.
I walk my lands
enjoying the stillness,
ignoring the living,
they're just here to distract,
not worth my time.
Fog rolls in
like sheets of sheer fabric,
excluding me,
cuddling me.
I can feel the moisture
building up
on my skin,
slicking down my body hair,
smearing the blood
coating me.
It's trying to cleanse me
but it won't,
can't allow it,
I'm enjoying this too much.
This is just my brake
from the hunt,
a day to let myself
grow hollow.
I see a silhouette
of my castle up on the cliff
The grounds below me
are finally springing back.
My gnarled trees
flourishing,
the bushes are flowered
and spiky,
still a bit drab
but that's how i like it.
Licking the platelets
from my fingers
I keep moving
(just like my quill)
gliding across my parchment
filling in the blanks
with silence
too loud to hear,
too quiet to resist,
ripping into the foundation
hard enough to stop civilization,
making them wait
for what I have to say.
Ash falls before my eyes
as the masses wait,
they don't realize
I have nothing to say,
I'm just here to stir the cauldron
get the juices boiling.
Havoc is my creation,
my spawn,
my lover,
the taste that sits in the back
of my mouth.
Can you hear me
screaming in the back
of your head,
saying the things
you dare not think about
and leaving that
metallic taste
in your mouth
as your lip bleeds.
Copyright © Mark Matthews | Year Posted 2008
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