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The Gaunt

Sleeping days, days come night
the solvents clean from within inside
feasts upon the cooling birthright
the gaunt he shuns the unbroken mirror side.

    bleached are the bones sliding 'neath the rotting skin
    ever unaware these wounds may never fucking mend

Between the rises she tries to defy
her sense of worth and weight the gravity
pushing and pulling rusted levers in her mind
to seek again and find that one perfect sign...

    bleached is the porcelain sliding 'neath fingers' gripped
    ever unaware some wounds may never fucking quit

Author notes

cybergod

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Comments


  • Concrete Angel silver member
    July 20

    Edit | Reply
    *shivers* Goosebumps. This poem is sinister and eerie and I like it! I like the whole feel of it. And I usually don't like to see profanity in poetry (it just doesnt seem to fit to me), but I think in this piece it adds to the intensity. Great short write!


  • Nyx Iscariot
    October 7, 2008

    Edit | Reply
    mugh..you gave me goosebumps with the line "bleached is the..."
    i like shivers, write more to give me more.

    N.


    • TeKajo
      October 11, 2008
      Edit | Reply
      Thank you dear Nyx. this came out of frustration mainly because im limited to my left hand for the next couple of months (had surgery to reattach a flexor tendon on my right middle finger)...
      there should be more to come.