The Pendulum Ends
My mangling of words
begins again,
I chain up syllables
and thrash them with punctuation,
the pendulum sways.
Twisting them into
emotion,
stitching them together
to offer to you,
the pendulum swings.
Severed letters
pile on the bloody floor,
keeping only
the oozing essence of the body
I lay them,
quivering,
on the page,
the pendulum slows.
They beg you to read them
(save them)
but they can expect
a lifetime of torture
until I lay with
my dark mistress
in my earthly bed.
The pendulum ends.
(Revision of Untitled 93862)
Copyright © Mark Matthews | Year Posted 2008
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