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Death, and his lover.

"Your greatest dream is me"

By Empty Poetry and VersePublished 12 months ago 2 min read

Death, and his lover.

by; Akilkuumba K.

The obsession began, like the embers that give birth to a forest fire.

Every moment was consumed by a rouge attempt to fill the empty urn in her chest.

At times she requested death, yet he never seemed to come. The least he could do is send his ghostwriter, or hurst driver she thought jestingly. But death had better things to do.

By a candlelit alter he scanned the black water before him, patiently awaiting the cloudiness to become something he could perceive. The image of the face whose body would soon find the grave slowly formed like a constellation. The man's mostly stoic expression descended into a chaotic smile. The likeness of which would not go away, until that day, he would claim his desire.

She sat in the corner of the bar which sat at the corner of the street. Absolutely absent she thought, although there were so many people around, there was hardly room for her feet. Still, she was silent, yet the motion of her mind was loud as a siren. She hummed a siren song, and a few suiters attempted to sing along. However, her heart, or rather lack thereof was already set.

Death dreaming of piercing a delectable breast waited ever so patiently for the sun to find its set, and the stage curtain to be drawn. As it did, he called his spawn. With an aggressive hiss, that was both shockingly expressive and almost silent.

"Summoned us sir" the first to appear spoke, " Seer you have summoned" The other spoke directly after so that there was no pause between the two statements. A Dark ink with a slight blue tint seemed to drip from their black raven wing-like vestments. Which appeared to have too many folds, to count.

It was just after midnight, and the bartender shouted "Last call" She was still yet to have her first drink. Just sitting there like a traumatized detective in need of a shrink.

Slowly her eyes open, she detected a stink, one so ripe it could be a spoiled fruit drink. Pomegranate she thought, as she caught the gaze of a man with a smile that expressed a craze, just as much as it did a crave.

Vitality, as she had never experienced, coursed through her constricted veins. she stood quickly, her corset jet black with a shimmer of blue. Her heels clacked as she caught a clue. unable to breathe her hue turned...

She turned to see a hurst approaching, in the passenger saw an odd being noting, with a pen that lingered in the air so long some would say it was floating.

The window descended so she could read, the scribbles and annotations that attempted to be, her quotes from early that evening, and the next ones that were yet to be.

She read the next line which said, "Your greatest dream is me"

surreal poetryHorrorFantasy

About the Creator

Empty Poetry and Verse

Empty and Endless The Heart Of a Poet.

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