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.
Copyright © 2006, Alexis Child. All Rights Reserved.
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
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