Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Rivers whisper awful things
Their sandpaper tongues scrape
Softly
Little bones of young

A waterbird eats his tongue
"Fearful!" screams it's death
Still softer
Than a watery whisper
An owl of effortless beauty
offers vainglorious thought
And qualms between protruding ribs
Knowing its death will be a passionate movement
A contrast among still branches
Of grey trees beside her

Watching from a window,
All I hear is water.
There is a painting somewhere
Between my eyes,
It's dark affections lay beside me
Smelling of rotten fruit
And all that I know of sweet evil,
A perfume
Grossly intoxicating and murderously romantic
Like some kind of pale horse,
Filled with little men who want my blood.
I studied the shadows on my face,
Looking
As if I had just remembered
Your hardly parted lips
And glass eyes that breathe
Erasing me with ease,
Looking
As if you had just remembered
When your teeth fell out
And your skin crawled
From the softest birdsong.
It looked at me
Bearing heavy disease,
And limped away.
Like how the saddest droplet of hot wax
Crawls from a white flames strange beauty
Falling to a shadow
Where it cools, sadder still.

— The End —