Black

We are surrounded.

Scratched in dirt in front of face, buried in the last thing they never saw. Too dark to beat the ground on winged fleet. Too light to float away, far beyond these thousand graves.

We can still feel them there, among the trees, in our bones and skin. Tearing out in hidden screams.  The very things, they wait to pounce and rip to core, return to ash and black before. The very things.

We must hold their breath forever.

We must hold.

Among

The moist choke of night covers above, rolling under owl eyes and twisted limbs. It can still find you down there, cloaked in dirt, scratching away. The monsters won’t tell. The moon will keep your secret hush.

Try to hold your breath, fast and secure. Let it slip out in quiet streams between your lips, whispering apologies and begging for mercy. It can still hear you down there among the gone, crying for the wind.

Find

Curse has come to kill, all teeth and claw. Parts of everywhere and there he sits atop the clouds, between the walls as the rain drops are. He has come for the sun and the moon and the bodies held for keep. His descent will end as it began, full of fire and fear of fall, a new world scorched to burn them all.

Curse has come to collect his due, owed and betrayed. Tracked behind path worn deep, a pace we cannot keep. Too much blood. Trails behind. Nothing left except the final find.

Open your eyes.

Please don’t die.

Jagged

I can see it on the horizon, broken and huge.
Waiting for the cold to snap.

It is perfect now, still jagged from the dawn.
Sharp and hungry, dug in deep and desperate.

It must have.

Haunt

I’ve seen you before. Hunched down and trembling, wrapped in chains. Sliding down the stairs and vanished before your landing comes. I’ve heard you before. Whispered moans as I sleep, cold and dead. Your breath has been gone since the sun cracked glass.

I am wrapped in sheets, waiting for your hand.

No Vacant Sea

So, this is how it ends.
A single wave rends my hull.
The planks shake loose and you
Are my great divide.

The lesser of two evils, I surmise.

Sticks and Stones

Does this place do you justice? After this whirled you about and around and a round moon stares down, unblinking. Except that one time. When the maple cradled it. And cracked. And groaned. The pressure was built. And the yellow fell tilt. To cast a shine upon your cheek. Buried there. To twist and creak.

Except that one time.

Stick a Needle In Thine Eye

The eyes have it! No matter that those insolent equines insinuate otherwise. No matter that will escape its pull. This is all Pre-Quill, you understand. All very iris and pane and squinting and strain.

Meanwhile.

The murder is upon them. Talons and pitch. Not much else. Perhaps the center pulses. Reacts. Instinct, I assure you.

One more thing.

What catch of the sideways leer? The gentle breeze of peep and peer. The stares unfold and find you here. All of this I cannot bear.

Beat

Ripped out cage and set to display on splintered dirt for ghouls with eyes like yours. Beating life back in, pulped and pulsing and spitting blood. Drips down posts and seeps to ground, a second act ignored by thumping hands. Torch cracks black and sheds down upon the crawl, hovering beneath shuffled stumps. Curtain calls low and fades between faintest beat.

The show must go on.