At the crossroads of twilight, the city is coffined beneath the weight of blood and bone. Stolen joys where no rest reposes, burrow in stale boudoirs. Weeping faces like drowned funerary bells excavate wild fears waiting for all.
Stone-carved dreams rise like tall ghosts wearing tatters drinking life like death. Bat-wings of boredom thrust us on as if the devil sputters in our chamber, orgiastic with greed. Candles fade to black like long sobs, charged with goodbyes in communion with a fading god burdened by giant wings.
First published in Whispers of Wickedness Webzine-Feb/06 & Featured in Black Petals Magazine Issue 38-Winter 2007 & Reprinted in Sein Und Werden Autumn 2008 Issue:
Memento Mori