A convalescence of essence shoots through my veins.
Unrelenting, marrowed bone-butter funnels to my brain.
Who cries out to me?
Not a sound…but a name;
I’ve heard it before: a wishful archetype of my future refrain.
I beat my feet to the rhythm of my mind’s off beat harmonic hues:
Eyes shape shifting, color melding, all in effigy to you.
So easy to maintain, yet hard to constrain:
I’ll fight to keep secret what, still primal, remains.
With a fraction of useful macabre sensibility,
Capture the gun of my mouth and put your silencer on.
Press once for sensibility…press twice for malaise…
Press three times for un-amused irony, half-glazed.
Boom went the Shadow Man!; loves yang hatred-forced down within disguise. Words, thoughts, images half remembered: lost amidst my mind’s useless cries.
I am at once forgotten:
Vanished with a soothing rhythm of love’s sweet “yet-to-bees”.
Love’s counterpart Satan drives reckless, not knowing where or what or how to see.
“Tic-Toc” said the Shadow Man.
Come into my lair.
Make praise, and a revival!
Seclusion will dull those wits, half scared.
Drip drop down to the orchard of my kind.
Capture the supine staircases flowing from my mind.
Climb down my membranes. Envelope in kind:
The neural incontinence of a lovesick aching mind.
Laura is a freelance writer hailing from Buffalo, NY. Having lived in places such as Russia, Africa, and Alaska, she loves truly original short fiction, poetry, and pretty much anything to do with fantasy and adventure in foreign lands. Hoping to one day soon publish her first novel, Laura spends her time not writing making independent films, acting & singing in theater, and enjoying all the delicious restaurants NYC has to offer. You can contact her for any and all of your writing needs at firstname.lastname@example.org and on Instagram