Scarlet romantic aura permeates

the essence of my being, a feeling half

incomprehensible to my own psyche.

Waiting beneath the soft, silky embrace of candlelight,

hope is weeded out as if a bountiful tree spontaneously

chopped.

I fall, fall, fall away

and I cannot help clutching emptiness...

hollowness grows deeper, darker, breathless.

An afterimage of white noise extends its inky tendrils,

silhouettes cut me, glistering abyss,

seeping its claws,

into my skin.

Into my chest, drowning me.

 

  Glancing from left to right, looking up and down,

peering upon the secretive nooks of the haunted

house of my mind.

Waiting beneath the bitter blight of static glare,

I am greeted by a familiar stranger.

The stranger pays me a glance with a weary face

like that of a disoriented, distorted jester,

or perhaps a solemn, silent, lurking spectre.

This cannot go on - no,

I strictly forbid it.

Falling, the blinding, roaring rift

rips the chilling surface clinging beneath

me,

falling, falling, falling,

this isn't my fate,

dangling by a scarlet thread.

 

  Lies are cast upon you

as to how  brightly the light

encapsulated within the other side

radiates. Human yearning.

Deceptions that serve demons,

deceptions unravelled when the

soft, silky lustre illumines  -

for every light casts a shadow,

and every light hatches

 

as the offspring of darkness.