Guise

I saw them creeping

From behind a veil

In a murky vision

One November morning.

Luna

A pouring gaze ensnared me.

How I hate the thought of it now.

Winding trails of stained thread

Coiled about me

Boundlessly.

Prison

Sentinels there

Did not sleep,

A faceless presence

Peering across my mind.

And the stone was like a heaving kiln,

Scorched and bare

Beneath my flesh.

Twilight

The smear of paint

Was all that tainted the sheets

Blood upon snow,

Or guilt upon youth.

Torches

Premonition,

Haunting, taunting,

They fought wildly,

Hair flying like gory scarves,

The valley sank

And drowned.

Decadent fright

I loved it well

If only for the terror.

Such things

My eyes delighted to indulge in.

Wonderful horror.

I hope

It will never come again.