Gothic-Surrealism

Words of a world, strange though wonderful.

Skewered Darkness

I don’t know what it was.

Some urge to sit down and write came over me.

Gothic poetry radiates in its tune and the lights dim.

What shall I write? Dream…

 

I pulled off my scalp,

cracked open my skull,

mashed my fingers in

and parted my mind.

 

Running like blood,

thoughts stream

down my hands

upon the page.

 

I looked up

into the blinding sun,

its rays skewered

the darkness of my eyes.

 

Oh, these hollow sockets

swallow the lighted world.

I fall back,

an eyeless creature.

 

The spotlight of my soul

pierces the dusk hue

as I crash upon the ground

of the Gothic Forest.

 

The foundations of my body fracture.

These bones splinter as kindling

for the coming inferno

that quenches metaphors thirst.

 

This body lay broken; dead.

The Gothic Forest accepts this cadaver as now its own.

The vines of its being

slither through ash, bone and stake their claim.

 

My soul lives on…

beaming from these sockets,

splashing its reflection

on the world around.