The first time when
he was fourteen, it was
either that or suicide
or ultimately, matricide
death is love, love is death
or deep in the heart of nothingness
rude exhumation of earth
eclipsed by an exciting deposit
[new trash dump.
new treasure trove.]
Red sunsets cloaked with black cloud
- dragging night
over the need, blanketing the blood
born-new every day & growing with
every waking minute of the hunt
red soaks the future
the end switches sides with each raging hammer blow
Broken rag-doll is the canvas
underneath, so limp & pale ~ Tabula Rasa
nothing left but not enough
death, when the object of hate is dead already
you shall fall with my breath upon you
Evocative imagery..sparse and dangerous...nice write :)
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