Hoarfrost

Deadened vision, thickening covering.

Monochromatic imaging returns with

cold iron in tow

dragging,

looming.

       

Rigamortis taunting terror,

you snap under the cot

stained with fluid.

Metal grinds against the concrete.

Do you believe that you are safe?

SHAME ON YOU!

You fool!

You reprobate!

How could you think that you'd

escaped from madness?

Deformed arms enfold you,

condensing breath tight around your neck.

Hoarfrost clings to window panes

obscuring the stains,

feigning, failing to bestow

tepid idle glow.

The line figure falls through

decay plagued katabasis.

Broken tile greets

its landing with a cacophony

clapping into corridors perpetual.

Through miasma

a lone well lies among the quiet murk.

The ring contracts

as substratum gives way, cascading

into the silt cemetery underneath.

You've let the dead in.

You've let the dead in.

Surrounded,

silhouettes sway with the wind.

Imprisoned effigies

released to incarcerate.

Looming close,

the acrid taste of ozone permeates

as the rope constricts.

Fatally frigid tenebrous cadavers

pile on weightlessly,

purloining lungs of breath.

There is no avoiding the pain.

There is no avoiding your fate.

They scatter, unable to see,

fearing the dragging pipe's dirge approaching.

   

End apparent,

I assume the posture of

carnal initiation.

Water slowly builds a coffin,

reaper proven unforgotten

pools of rust pour in

I accept my fate.