Dark Poetry ~ Devils Fear the Dead

Golden moments deceased.
By this beast inside my head.
Now, devils fear the dead.

Previous little deaths,
laid upon my bed.

The baseline came to my line,
in headlines of my mind.

Ever-flowing never-knowing,
façade cracking,
fear ever showing.

Heatwave in my grave,
it’s time I’m given,
graven images that I gave.

A heart released by the knife,
every sin, now, bursting into the light.

Slipping away,
falling away,
into darkening day.

This is the time.
The time.
I pay.

Grasping at straws.
Drinking from life.

Zeroing in on the end,
of my razor knife.

Fight. Flight. Fatigue.

Weeping follows.
Whimpers and swallows.

Gripping my fingers,
at the lost fragments,
of my forgotten tomorrows.

With a brain full of lead.

I must say,