|We All Want to Play God Sometimes
Author: painting andromeda PM
The witching hour veils the sins you are about to commit.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Poetry/Horror - Words: 294 - Reviews: 1 - Published: 07-25-07 - Status: Complete - id: 2395046
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
You feel better now that you have
cast before the witching hour
for the dark.
The radio is what you have
Tonight your throat made the decision
to be innate.
And no, your feelings chose to be no objective
for this night's discussion.
You've rehearsed this before,
in your mind,
simultaneous to the emission of your beautiful lullabies
(screams of desperation)
and your recollection of
in the shadows of those who create
shadows of imaginary children for you.
And as burden entered your respectable apparatus,
you contemplated the nature of your desire
melting words on the breadth of your tongue,
like the night when you
melted into another.
How that hour
embossed the notion
that maybe you had roses
instead of weeds.
And you laid down
on the cold,
in your mind compensating for the warmth of that boy.
Next to you now,
seeds of exhaustion planted on the corners of his eyes
to keep him awake;
to keep him sane.
Paper cuts on the corners of his lips,
to remind him not to
reenact the dialogue he has grown to love
And he knew that on
you were a synthetic dilemma.
Something that would ebb into his life,
and flow gracefully back into the seas of his adolescence.
Inundated with all the things
we were birthed knowing were
He knew his mother was similar
to this girl.
across his memory.
And it kills him to know
that this road
paved and perfect
is leading him to a fortress
of murder, and simulated heavens
to end the life
(or something to that effect).