horror, Poetry

The Messenger

From the heavens,
A messenger springs true.
An eager volunteer,
the droplet
plummets valiantly,
a whistle of wind
before impact.

splash

drip, drop
may you never hope
to reach the inner depths of my mind.
Front and center,
A scene of great
tragedy and anticipation blinds my eyes.
A body coated in rainwater,
rivets my hawk-like focus.
Pale alabaster
sprinkled with droplets of crimson,
a fashion like no other
a stench like no other
rivets my attention
as rampant lusts brushes against my skin.
Tendrils of sticky red
stubbornly lingers,
the rain dyeing the floor
a masterpiece of fine strokes
and jolted dashes.
The tang of loss stains
my teeth black,
the taste of soot and ash,
coats my tongue
in layers of disarming despair.
I pucker my lips
as the clock tics,
pretty just peachy
all over your cheeks
yet the rain splatters
and splashes, leaving
you weak
in the state of rigor mortis.
Never has your visage
been so disarming…
The rouge cracks
as I smile,
a fissure across the meticulous surface,
like shards stabbing, shredding.
The drip, droppety soundtrack
is the only audience to my maddening laugh.

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