What whirls and twirls are dark clouds,
occasionally lit up by bright flashes.
Loathed looming consciousness;
eyes ominously glaring.
Stalking predator preparing the pounce.
Bodiless mouth opens wide in a holler,
displaying filed teeth, sharp and bloody.
From a great hight the old rag doll falls;
wind flayed arms, stitched to a
patched up body.
in tenebrous water.
Twigs and disintegrated leaves breathe rot,
saturating the humble figure’s cloth,
now cold to the touch.
Lastly, a black threaded smile submerges.
Heaviness sinks until presumed lost.
A being of slithering tentacles, swallowed,
latches onto the medulla.
Continuous discharge of
Small doses remain unnoticed.
Creeper vines grow, gradually crawling
across the length of the nerve-
nauseated by the smell of stomach acids.
Struggling in swirling pools of vomit.
Timid singing bird shivers at its reflection
in the glass sphere that has it hidden.
Faint tweets roared down
by an unknown
“Spent your life undoing your wretchedness,
that none might be afflicted by your
Timid singing bird shivers,
Layers of dark clouds; whirling, twirling,
with at the core of its system, hidden,
the being once birthed in light
now reduced to a flicker,
begging to be seen,
yet dreading to
by shrieking demon moths, attracted to
the lost flame of innocence.
The girl with the ashen mirror -
M.A. Tempels © 2017