360°

Dust choked mirror reflects dark sunken
orbs beneath crescent moon halves
mutated skin wrists hang from frail
fractured limbs of tormented sinew

I've been here before & I know the routine
I've seen this before & I know what it means

Luna disc penetrates silver shards
across splintered boards of decline
concentric circles of aching frown sends
ripped muscles into relentless spasm

I've been here before & I know the routine
Three hundred & sixty degrees
Right back down on my hands & knees
Three hundred & sixty degrees

I've seen this before & I know what it means
Three hundred & sixty degrees
Right back down on bloodied knees
Three hundred & sixty degrees

Skeletal digits stab jagged points into
broken face lingering in hopeless gawp
déjà vu taunts & amplifies grief
filled pearls of salt stinging open wounds

I've seen this before & I know what it means
I've been here before & I know the routine

Stiffened facial expression of faith lost man
known as beast where little else compares
dwelling within on the fringe of the brittle &
crumbling wall of inner haunting & remorse

Arc of hatred paints impure line across
hoarse & exposed chords of sound
gurgled grin of remembrance falls silent
as tobacco stained breath expels existence

About This Poem

Review Request Intensity: I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back

Editing Stage: Editing - draft

About the Author

Region, Country: UK, GBR

Favorite Poets: Candlewitch, Eddy Styx, Ziggy

Comments

Geezer

2 years 7 months ago

This is really scary...

I see that there may be a nightmare here; it projects a creepy theme for a difficult time of the year for me. Autumn always fills me with a certain dread, like decay and breaking down of nature. I understand and accept winter, but the Fall perturbs me.
Anyway, you managed to set my teeth to chattering and my blood runs cold. ~ Geez. Ha, ha, ha, ha...
.

Candlewitch

1 year 7 months ago

dear One,

Stiffened facial expression of faith lost man
known as beast where little else compares
dwelling within on the fringe of the brittle &
crumbling wall of inner haunting & remorse

Arc of hatred paints impure line across
hoarse & exposed chords of sound
gurgled grin of remembrance falls silent
as tobacco stained breath expels existence

you are a master of horror and terror. you write from experience and it washes over the reader...

*love, Sis