Corpse fingers wrap around my throat with the thought
Of what could have been...
Of what was.
It was there on my fingertips,
There against my hand, warm and swollen with life,
Beating against my palm with the sort of enthusiasm
Saved for blinding red sunsets and once-a-century storms.
It's gone.
.
Should I miss the empty thought of what if's?
Should I miss the shadows gathering around my ankles,
Collecting dust on my eyelashes?
Maybe I should have missed it
But I can only grin in sheer amazement at the hole in my chest,
The stellar nursery giving birth
To something that tastes a little like death.
.
About the Creator
Silver Daux
Writer of the dark! Think of it like flipping rocks, the weird little stories underneath are my jam and jelly. Jam and butter? Just jam. Absolutely no use of AI in any of my works :)
Ah, also:
Tiktok/Insta: harbingerofsnake
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