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A tempest poised on clouds of battleship grey,
She lays sprawled out on the inclement ground
And awaits his arrival to merely find a lovely
Face declined beneath decay.
Not a tinge of affliction befalls her.
Contorted with such grace is she, with eyes so
Fawn, filmed with opaque, she lays
As if to stargaze upon the dreary skies of haze.
Never have his eyes rested on such divinity;
The serene inertia of a goddess at rest.
Dispatched by such beauty, he reaches
Out to embrace her frail and lifeless body.
An angelic spectre, so divine,
Before her flesh congeals and rots,
Remains a slumbering celestial being.
Gathering pieces of her curdling skin,
He wakes to find a discoloured phantom
Limp and lifeless; festering beside him.
Vacantly caressing the putrid corpse,
Stroking the bristled strands of gold,
She crumbles between his fingers;
Moulded fragments of her flesh
Slowly slipping through each slit,
Where is the threshold of her death?
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Writer Profile
Mary
I spend alot of my time in introspection or as some may say it, 'daydreaming' and use my thoughts as my inspiration. Some of my heroes include, Ayn Rand, Edgar Allen Poe, Shakespeare, Anne Rice, and Emily Dickinson. I've found writing to be a very therapeutic way of dealing with my pain, depression, and sadness. Writing is my way of escaping the harsh realities of life even if only for a brief moment and sometimes, even improving my state of mind so that I may be more optimistic and thankful about life. It all depends on how I'm feeling that determines the outcome of my art and writing. My moods are everchanging and I still have much to learn about myself and the world around me.
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