The Bird and The Worm
Crawling upon desecrated ashes,
whispers haunt ~
“You will never make it.”
Vermilion skies rumble over the brutal horizon,
splitting open as a deafening rain pours forth,
drenching an already collapsing body.
Splaying nails rip into hollow earth.
Eerie silhouettes dance in the lightning flashes.
It’s getting harder to see now —
fear surging, lungs straining,
losing control.
Darkness engulfs, swallowing the sun.
Panic sets in; urgency is now a must,
for night brings what cannot be spoken.
Cortisol spikes, muscles spasm.
Faster, he must crawl ~
death is imminent if he cannot find the door.
Feeling blindly through infectious petrichor,
his palms meet nothing but cold decay.
Macabre laughter circles around him.
Praying, he reaches out one more time —
unsuccessfully.
Closing his eyes, red-hot pain
flows over his flesh,
devoured by the very demons
he could not escape.
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