Everything dies, baby, that's a fact, the Jersey poet promised
Cyclical narratives tumble like blue-jean laundry, time disguises itself in
Linear fashion, while days masquerade as night and Jokers paint themselves Kings
In the sun's harsh light, or while she changes costume behind the clouds
Past turns to future and unwraps itself to present again, ancient acts play out under the celestial spotlight 'til she swallows us all and the audience is no more
So when your luck spring runs dry, and the dark days come, look up to the sky and remember:
Everything that dies someday comes back.
About the Creator
An Adventure Through Hell
Emaciated arms covered by the tiniest bit of flesh capture me, holding me close to its decaying form. Gnarled and thin fingers pull my dark hair. Screams of anguish surround me, somehow reverberating from the empty chasm. I punch and watch as bits of grey flesh disintegrate into dust. Scratching at the caverns where its eyes should have been, I could only hope for an end to this hell. The sounds of torment continued, assaulting my ears with one tremendous roar.
By Isabella Rose3 days ago in Horror
Comments (1)
This is great. Love it so much