Thinking About The Kill

A blood-dipped letter lies before me, Wrapped in moth-ridden silk, Written by your ghastly fingers. The cold of another bleak fortnight settles in, While crimson-eyed ravens rest upon creaking window sills. Stoking the fire, umbers rise and dissipate before me, Painting prophetic warnings in the air, As the distorted ticking of clocks chimes tensely, Repeating the same hour—two a.m. A crisp chill shoots up my spine, I wrap myself tighter in your charcoal shawl, Reaching for the last of the firewood you chopped. Placing it in the hearth, I now know it's time. Removing the silk, I cast it into the flames, Peeling back three wax skull seals. I open the fateful envelope, The curse you unknowingly wrote into existence. Placed upon me, it rests in my weeping hands— One cataclysmic night was all it took, For our destruction, Your soul claimed by the nether, And mine bound within a perpetual loop of despair forevermore.