A blackened satire sin of a wicked phantasmal,
Wrapped in sugar and a twist of cyanide,
I worked the fingers to the bone,
Asphyxiated by the ash of our forefathers.
The rain fizzes bitter sweet against scorched skin,
With no tears and blood to stain,
We’re close to Hell, but no closer to paradise.
Volcanic laughter and screeching screams,
The lines of wrath taken with demise in mind.
Walking in the ruins of the memories,
I wonder what ironic undermine awaits me
On the other side.
Author notes
Welcome to my Hell, bitches.
Comments
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I was hoping to maybe see what you meant by reading one of your own, but I am still sadly clueless.
However, I do find this a fantastic piece of work. I especially like the lines:
I worked the fingers to the bone,
Asphyxiated by the ash of our forefathers.
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*buys a summer home in your Hell*
Hello Neko.
Been a long time. I like the name change. And I thank you for commenting on my newer writes. *thumbs up*
Your piece? Well, you may know that i'm a sucker for a dark bit of poetry. The visuals are quick, they mesh, moving from one little nightmare to the next.
I liked the lines... "I worked the fingers to the bone, Asphyxiated by the ash of our forefathers."
It brings, to me, the idea of trying so hard to carve out your own identity all while being overshadowed by those who came before you.
Very nice write. Good job. ;D
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Thanks mate! It ha sbeen a looooong time, but I keep popping in and out again when I can! Although I've only read one, I will be reading what I've missed! So, see you around for sure matey!
And thanks for the comment!
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