Proud flesh foretells dread; children taught to sin,
quiet as shadows, without thought for their own
failings, manipulate skeletal angels in an unborn
universe until the speed is such, their wounds when
at peace fly into themselves, opening pages of their
death long before its time. In hatred of itself, the
history of bones and blood rises up from its depths,
in the heart before birth, a secret death in these wounds.
Who can accuse those sustained by dark breath?
We cannot help those who were born to perish.
What happens to them is found in all cold places
on earth, even lonely cemeteries. Constructed from
raw petals, burnt and scarred, their ugliness stirs the
fire by the light of a true hunger that's not been
found. The genesis of evil owns one completely;
the cadaver of a future life, driven onto spikes.
Crucified children leave behind all they want you to
remember, compelling your feet to go on, breaking
worlds in others heads, where existence is elsewhere.
Copyright © 2006, Alexis Child. All Rights Reserved.
Previously Published in April 2006
Sinfully Twisted Magazine-Issue #2
Featured in the Summer Edition 2015,
Black Petals #72
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reproduced, or used for any other purpose without permission of the Author.