What black-cowled apparition this,
creeps on raven’s feet through my house?
What forsaken, decaying reflection?
It slumps around and waits for me to pass.
then it lunges and plunges the daggers
of its hatred into my heart.
Lying, stunned, my soul withering,
as does a peach in August sun...I die.
She who pulls herself up, like-visaged,
but not me.
This replicator of old poets dances
in my skin, ******* in darkness
as if it were afternoon tea.
The sky grows fierce with clouds
as curdled as milk from a witch’s ****.
Bird song dirges cry, melancholy.
All the doors in my room slam shut -
throwing their bolts into locks,
more meant for keeping me inside
than keeping the world out.
The bitter blade of insanity
has cleanly severed my living cord,
and I must writhe in hell’s fires,
knowing I am unloved, unwanted and shunned.
Waiting until the hateful, hurtful deed is done.