Short Tort (Unfinished)

“…sometime the unfinished works are the worst appetizers for the better novels….”

Through the tombstones I shall creep,
and glare with crimson eyes.
In points puddles, my nails shall steep,
and shroud my heart with lies.

Flesh has rend and fallen down,
I drag it where I stride.
The smell of rot upon my crown,
in the darkness I confide.

Robes of mildewed purple felt,
A throne of crumbled bone.
Scepter high with wrists a razed,
and my servants carved of stone.

Moonlight glint upon my skull,
through skin it peers to you.
My blood has turned from red to black,
my eyes a greyish hue.

The chain it rusts around my neck,
the tar pours from my chest.
Risen I from the cold laiden earth,
where I was thrown to “rest”….

By Azurael

Enjoys: Razor blades Cat 'o' Nines Roses Poetry Dispair Self-Destruction