Left alone, devices ring like a bell tolls,
Clanging inside my brain and memories
Run down corridors opening and closing,
Splitting off at the junction. Dickens’
Oliver dead as a door post, that wilted
Little wretch with amazing airs and graces,
Grated on the pickle of pain; Demeter and her blind eye,
Hades and his jeckyll juice Pomegranate wine.
A contemptible self loathing of projectile vomit,
Covering an indigo child that wouldn’t toe the line.
Mauve dug in, embedding her chariot
Heart to a stranger. Hades, larger than life
Roaming the dark halls like death,
Cast shadows wherever he went.
Survival weaving those invisible silver threads,
A silver road to nowhere, her woven make-shift
Sanctuary cocoon. It was here solace found the darkness,
amongst the catacombs growing flourescent fungi and that elusive light.
The light, that would flicker like Charons lantern,
Two and fro, waves lapping at his sides taking an age to dawn.
Carnage – spilling blood let into her womb
with no openings; corners with no cracks,
to crawl inside. Here refuge settled in like mothballs
and cobwebs swung between the skull and
Crossbones, a subterranean mosaic of Dante’s Inferno.
It was here, prayer bounced from the walls, echoing
Skulduggery and forgiveness.
An unknown God became a hopeless lost cause.
11 Typical Unintentional Behaviors of Emotionally Hurt People
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