Empty Streets
That heavy weight inside your gut.
It burns
like the mirror burns between your
fingers.
//
You don't have to see
carmine
to know you're bleeding,
//
the dripping
syrup
runs down your flesh, rends open
//
your arms. The tears flood
your chin, mirror
reflects
//
your dripping, dripping skin.
You ask, and ask again
is this the end?
//
But then, you turn a corner—
now there's nothing.
//
Only you,
//
the tenebrous, silky air,
//
the empty street.
//
Maybe you're insane—
//
yet, no— no—
your insides are shaking, and you feel
it in your feet—
//
the urgency— and you feel it in your hands
itching—
in the mirror you keep
//
just above your shoulder,
just,
just in case.
//
Yet there's nothing but atmosphere,
//
the sound of your heels tapping,
//
the sound of you weeping,
//
the sound of you breathing,
//
the sounds of bodies
//
bleeding.
About the Creator
Corvus
Corvus is a kaleidoscope of Gothic word-craft, stuck somewhere within the hurricanes of prose and poetry and wrung out on each page. Find more fragments of the love letter on their website, corvuslove.
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