I turn slowly, shoulders wracked with the age of those thousand lifetimes;
aching with stagnation, burnt with indignation, swallowed in ghosts and grime; that lovely chime,
but in that time: what do I see behind me?
My eyes slowly focus, adjusting to the dark, to the shadow trail in my wake.
Burning pitch and sulfur; I wrinkle my nose; charred flesh and breaking bones.
The skeletons from the closet, catching up with me, ambling on their puppet strings,
singing those terrible songs they sing; the screeching of a broken violin upon their tongues.
That terrible rhythm
of an undying footstep; the way the hips rotate and the arch of the foot as it wears down to bone dust.
I see the eyes of the ones that once lived; in this fantasy castle in the airwaves with me, all regal indigo royalty.
I see the heart-wrenching blue, the bedroom eyes, the reflection of you.
But I am alive to destroy your shadow, as it wrenches itself, gasping breath in, rattling moan out; across the floor, dying for more; for a taste of what you once had when we were living.
I see the docile hazel, hands outstretched in a gesture of love; but those fingers, rot and broken, they long to touch; and I burn, burn, burn the shadows away.
Across my shoulders the ink holds true, and I'll never discard the pictures of you; all they were, before this doomsday parade. Of all our hands held and the smiles we stretched beyond those hollow cheekbones.
I see the rich sapphire and its pseudo wisdom; of new ages and spirit bonds. Reaching out to grip my soul, a fierce and fine swerving; of tight and loosened bolts.
And again, the soulless ice; the pressure on the sternum.
Flash; I swing the rusted axe, I pull the silk trigger; sweet charcoal grip against my fingertips.
The fog on the windows, the notes hung on the filthy, deep air.
Flash; I pull back the taut string; whoosh the arrow flings, the stone tip sings.
And again they groan and grumble; moan and froth and fling their bodies forward,
and I turn once more, facing the speeding stonework floor as it passes,
my footsteps crash in the straining silence; face forward:
What do I see behind me?
I will never look again.