Molten-copper spews across my chest,
Casting the beast inside.
His mane of fiery-twined tongues rope my blackened heart,
Crushing the pipes of its chambers’ bars.
An ancient plague burrowing through scar tissue,
Carving out an underworld with my bones.
A pit of wailing mornings screaming at the absent horizon,
Impaled upon the severing shard of self.
Weltering —
In the bowels of an endless necrotic flow,
Nothing left to hold,
But for the pustular obscenities,
Metastasizing into what I have come to be.
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Author:
CanaryInTheGrave (
Offline) - Published: September 6th, 2026 10:43
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 21
Offline)
Comments3
Illness and disease fill this write where corruption takes over and deterioration is the end. Well done
In a sense. Was a prompt on despair.
Thank you for reading and commenting.
You are most welcome Canaryln
Tremendous.
Thank you.
Nicely said
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