Gothic-Surrealism

Words of a world, strange though wonderful.

Skewering Rays

     I don’t know what it was. Some urge to sit down and write came over me. Piano music radiating between these walls; the lights dim. What shall I write? Dream... I pulled my scalp off, cracked open my skull, mashed my fingers in and parted my mind. Running like blood, those thoughts streamed down my face and rained upon my torso. I looked up into the blinding sun as its rays skewered the darkness of my eyes. I fall back, an eyeless creature. Oh, these hollow sockets swallow the lighted world. The spotlight of my soul pierces the dusk hue as I crash upon the floor of the gothic forest. The foundations of my body fracture. These bones splinter as kindling for the coming inferno that which 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 make their claim. My soul, however; lives on. The soul which beams from these empty sockets splashes its reflection on the world around.