An Awkward Presence in the Living Room Oh soul...what weep!? To be wrought upon this soil, a creep. Unsound, diseased, evident by the turning of cheeks. You there- in keep; forever crippled by my seek. A toll, mis-anchored, from Mr. & Mrs. Boyles sleep. What child is this? They hope not to feed. What life is this!? They hope not to breed. For I am the devils spine this desolate night, that has dismantled for thee. An unvarnished skeleton, a scornful sight, too barren to bleed. Indeed, my presence entails any moment you breathe. A lingering whisper that hisses beneath. & with the dying hand that ticks as she please, we shall submerge the moon with feverish sleep. Legs cramped. Hands clasped. Soul unease. A shame- no bargains or pleas shall entangle me, & my desire to engulf you with intangible ease. So gasp, my darling! (your final breath) & I shall sweep you dear, upon thy death. For I yearn to deceive those in need. A wicked tempest, amongst the breeze. -James J H Gweon
Posted on: Thu, 27 Nov 2014 13:00:23 +0000
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