Silver Kiss
His kiss was death
not life, the chains
and dungeons of a nightmare.
Against the free dream-
smell of salt air.
So here I am
stuck in the mud
created by tears of crimson
emptied painfully and
an overactive mind.
But death to the mind.
The air slipping away,
suffocating.
The darkness all around.
Disgustingly brilliant.
Yet I walk away
leaving my body
in the dirt.
Buried alive.
Copyright © Myrna Acevedo | Year Posted 2008
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