hollowed out
a vast ravine
my vessel is vacant
with rooms for lease

empty
my soul is weary and tired
blackened
crumbling to ashes in its cage
a crater
poignant with despair
while beasts with crimson claws
eat their way inside

like the shadow-lands
my body carries carasses
of past evolutions,
and my previous sanguine mask
made of paper mache
falls
apart
as icy winds strike,
raking sharp fingernails across
my skin,
marking it read, black, and blue.

rooms for rent until july,
until life has ended,
until the black becomes a champ,
capturing the beating of my heart
and stilling my insides.

there were days of gold -
just yesterday, i swear -
but they are as coy as spring,
always replaced by the inevitable,
irrevocable plague
of the vicious winds and icy breath
of monsters
rising from hibernation,
taking their rightful place
and murdering the light
starting to reappear in my eyes.