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:
β¦ π₯ππΆπ©π’π¦π€π₯ β¦ (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: 3
- Users favorite of this poem: Poetic Licence
Offline)
Comments1
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
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