Lost hope for stillness, for silence, for light—
a death sentence sealed beneath a spiraling night.
She scratches for meaning with caustic nails,
as time betrays youth on broken scales.
Carven tears tore through her chest.
Heart separates without sound.
Distrait children in crumbling traps,
chasing myth through shadowed gaps.
Wracked moral compass, no mercy shown
— viscous terror to call her own.
Scars like rites carved the night,
a lifetime held. Thirteen, with a knife.
Craving conquest, she reached for the sky,
reasoning divinity would greet her.
No holy ghost—only silence, thick—
Red hands remain. Slick.
No map home, no mercy shown
—viscous terror called her own.
Scars like rites carved the night,
a lifetime held. Thirteen, with a knife.
Her visceral scream—
Not for the rupture;
For what never became.
A lifetime held…
Thirteen, with a knife.
*Inspired by the slenderman stabbing (2014)
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Author:
C.W Bleu (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 6th, 2025 00:08
- Category: Surrealist
- Views: 7
Offline)
Comments2
This piece really struck me with its raw intensity. The imagery of scars as āritesā and the repetition of āThirteen, with a knifeā created such a haunting echo it made the pain feel unforgettable. I read it as a way trauma leaves permanent marks, even when words fail. The flow between silence, violence, and spirituality gave it a layered depth, almost like a prayer that turns into a scream. Heavy but beautifully crafted.
Appreciate your kind words and for catching the rhythm beneath the rupture. That echoāāThirteen, with a knifeāāwas meant to linger like a scar that doesnāt ask for translation. Glad the layers held their weight without softening the edge.
A poem of darkness and horror painted in red and black. Well worded
Thank you. I heard of this incident here and there, but it was an episode of the original Forensic Files narrated by Peter Thomas as only he could, that sparked inspiration. Especially what he said near the tail end and along with the final scene, it gave me chills.
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