Stenches Swarm as I Flee.
Further is Closer, but Closer can't be.
I'm trying to hide from my own Misery.
This is not just an Excerpt; A Moment; A Thing.
Home is so ******* Far away.
Amidst these Beings, I am Forever alone.
As I Run through my City,
With arms so depraving,
I turn to the sky,
Now Scorched by their screams.
Their caustic teeth,
Slowly Sink into me.
A Carving so starving,
A Man, it could not be.
Dance, lover, dance,
Back, thrown from the chance,
That I might just Taste you,
And Submerge you in Hands.
Hands from the victims,
Now quick with demands.
Your Sweat wets the floor,
Your Blood Bank, A dried Store.
Drip,
Drip,
Drip,
You should have checked the Backseat.
Sep 4, 2013
Sep 4, 2013 at 3:08 PM UTC
Stenches Swarm as I Flee.
Further is Closer, but Closer can't be.
I'm trying to hide from my own Misery.
This is not just an Excerpt; A Moment; A Thing.
Home is so ******* Far away.
Amidst these Beings, I am Forever alone.
As I Run through my City,
With arms so depraving,
I turn to the sky,
Now Scorched by their screams.
Their caustic teeth,
Slowly Sink into me.
A Carving so starving,
A Man, it could not be.
Dance, lover, dance,
Back, thrown from the chance,
That I might just Taste you,
And Submerge you in Hands.
Hands from the victims,
Now quick with demands.
Your Sweat wets the floor,
Your Blood Bank, A dried Store.
Drip,
Drip,
Drip,
You should have checked the Backseat.
This a short narrative poem about a Man in the process of becoming undead.
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