Love In The Shadows Of Death

By: Fee

The crackle of leafs like the dried parchment of old skin, dry, red, blotched yet to lifeless to even succumb to rot

The screech of wind through the death gray stone of stones moldy ‘neath the tortured trees of death

The smell of damp, dank earth, of freshly turned grave, like the putrefied meat of dead animals picked to pieces

The sickeningly creepy touch of a spider web full across ones face, and the unmistakable feel of crawling on skin

The silhouettes that are undefined, spirits that seem to mate with those of night birds and black cats to raise hairs

The demonic cackle of far off laughter as if being belched up from the bowels of the foulest of foul

The candles flicker, not the romance in a jar candles but the old wax smell of holy candles burned to stubs

The unending night of fear, where sphincters pucker, teeth are gnawed and the stench of cold sweat is unbearable

Still our lips meet in the corridors of markers where we know it is save for us to walk, still we bare our bodies to the crackle of the leaves of our make do bed, still our voices shriek in the desires of the flesh, still I impale you like the death stake driven through the undead’s heart, still we stir the earth and maybe disturb the spirits until satisfied we sleep the sleep of the death …safe surrounded by those who cannot tell…