Burgundy Black

And her retired mascara
Sharp reaper wings
Thick wet messes
Crumbling rib cage

Murderess cat eyes
Thickened stickiness
Crum  bull  ling cage
And her retired lashes
                            lowered

Zombie Poetry #1

If I ever stopped running... A blood blackened sun would make this scorched skin cry Filthy locks would fly astray, freer than I Fractured structures that stand this flesh would wail and weep The humid breath of Earth would clasp every crease Stripped, stained nails would invite blood at the palm Parched, waterless lips would breathe a profound and silent song That grew from the confinement of this boney cage And overcome my eyes with a frightfully, bleary haze It prevails in this ever growing prison To fail at eliciting the depth and degree of my misery And I would loose breathe. . .

Cool Melancholy

Its midnight and I’m staring at overcast skies
Pointless to try and get some rest but I can’t close my own eyes
Those heavy clouds that block the moonlight, They cover my cries
Same way this world wants to rewrite my mind with whitewashed lies
To spiritually destroy me, reward me, and give me glory
For my passivity and docility or otherwise they’ll scold me
But servility, it really ain't that far from slavery
Yet  this complacency, frees me from my sensibility

And the its idea that I'm controlled by my oppressing climate
That allows me to be a helpless recluse, depressing and quiet
A calm state of melancholy I call it,
Its something I hate to admit, that I fell in love with when first I saw it
The most sorrowful rains always beckoned my presence
Eversince the merciless sun shone on my first lamet
I knew contentment didn’t belong for too long, It's too easily spent
And that while my life was falling apart, the world moved on

So I eagerly sought out the pouring  rain to play my heart’s somber songs