The eyes misted…

Tears streamed, flowing and fell

Blood sprayed, sputtered, stained and slowly evaporating. The heart barely beating; turning blue, temperature hovering just below life… The little that remains. Death and her icy tendrils interlocking with the pieces of this soul that hover slowly above the earth, waiting to rise or fall – fading out & away.

The innocents always at the wrong place at the right time, it’s better them than me. The assassin, is always making a better pact with death, it seems. Death, she doesn’t want to play with me, yet. Still, I made a mistake that brought death right to my doorstep, I was sloppy & I am terrified, why didn’t I die? I do what I do, because I beseech at every waking moment, for the interlocking tendrils, to wrap it’s frigid beauty upon me. It’s like religion, I wake up, depressed and so I pray for the end. I take a life  & place myself in harms way, so that my prayers can be answered/redeemed.


I still reside with the living, oh cursed me.

The air was thin and the sky more pale; and every day the earth paled.


~ by tashpoeme on February 11, 2009.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: