vanquished and defective are our bodies,
our minds, our souls.
you wear your fleshly restraints,
I bear the key.
smoke clouds the room,
strobe lights over hazel eyes.
I'm not done with you yet,
nor my thinning mortality.
I'm the Frankenstein of the south,
the mammal beneath the monster.
for it is your blood between my teeth,
my wound laced with stitches.
cold and alone,
my eyes are wide.
bleeding poetry and prose,
your breath is scarce.
our mangled hearts lay
in adjoining rooms.
-
Author:
โโฑ๐ฑ๐ช๐๐ต๐ฎ๐ฒ๐ฐ๐ฑโฑโ (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 19th, 2025 06:43
- Comment from author about the poem: Inspiration from "Each Other" by This Cold Night and "Monster" by Solya. thanks for reading
- Category: Gothic
- Views: 27
- Users favorite of this poem: Poetic Licence, Tristan Robert Lange, Damaso
Offline)
Comments5
Poetry is often birthed from pain as much as love, from monsters that trouble us as much as angels. A most interesting write well done
That is very true. Thanks!
very much enjoyed the read
Glad you liked it!
very much, thank you
Wow! A hauntingly beautiful dark poem, my friend. Well done! ๐น๐
Thanks so much!
You are most welcome!
Excellent write
Thanks!
You're welcome
Wow, I really identify with the monster. One of my favorites. I hope to read more. Cheers.
Thanks!
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