Dying Maiden at the Styx

Her blood thrums in her veins, in tandom with

the thumping of her heart and beat of the chant.

Her wide-eyed doe-eyes are held captive

by a pair of Hadean eyes across the chamber

of overheated, sweating, souless, dying bodies.


As the burning nectar is conjoled down her virgin throat

Her hand itches to claw at her white-swan neck.

Yet as another shot of alcohol glides

past her cherry-tainted lips

Her pale hands glide over the fire in her body


The world blurs

a land where light no longer

shines.  Succulent seeds

of passion, flower

of ecstasy, the maiden

drowns in the forgotten Styx,

destroyer of light,


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This poem is about: 
Our world


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