Writings of a creature
Beneath the dark torn cloak, shadows
of a specter stitched from fear and plight.
Eyes burn with borrowed menace,
shielding a porcelain body.
Each step echoes hollow strength,
clinging to the cloth’s shroud,
a second skin.
But the figure quivers, silent and small,
a fragile soul, fleeing fleeting sorrow.
The labyrinth twists with its walls alive,
etched with fragments of forgotten faces.
The corridors shift,
reshaped by the weight of memories
screeching their way to the surface.
Shadows obscure each turn,
and monsters lurk;
born of heartbreak, despair, and yearning.
They hunt without rest, devouring wishful whispers
that echo through the endless, shifting maze.
Amidst nothingness, the silence rumbles
like crashing waves on distant shores.
Each breath tumbles through the air
like a voice that isn’t there.
The stillness grows, a heavy shroud,
its voiceless weight both soft and loud.
A quiet chaos, it twists and bends,
a cacophony that never ends.
to be left alone
in a crowded place
a bliss or a curse
to see the world spinning
while you are static
hoping to be remembered
while being passed through
I just wanted peace
not to be forgotten
but it spins too fast for me
and I’m too slow to be recalled
In the dark, they creep.
Vine-like arms, seek
prey like you.
Innocence is lost at dusk,
your mind is reduced to a husk,
behind eye’s bars, you are stuck.
Sinking restraints crept.
Holding you in place.
Trying again to make you fade.
Moonlight shines at the window
illuminating your scared face,
trembling limbs, shedding leaves, discase.
Shivering air suffocates,
the pressure starts to ache
it comes from everywhere –
and you won’t escape.
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