“curse”

in hollow,
professed, void of
black dreams—of
black leaves 'tached willows
jolting awkward utterances
throat, of empty ghosts'
dissonant tones, forms faint
their words they mean—
their quelling lust tortures
souls of they who falter
near

a hole, and I …
am in it gouging, dour,
its impediment—its
slimy, pasty, clay, and rock
troubled, subdued, no wings … undo … it
wears, thin, my skin—it
places my fall, with, not, sleep

furiously brushed peril
crimson—bled weak, I …
yearn to dream …

> no rest … not sleep—I … )

Hope of Peace

pity—
thieved of sobs—my
crushed soul churns, ill, a quicksand
pelted, scarce, my tried will—it,
kills, me—I,
could, not, die …

Written By Darkest Angel
Written March 25, 26, 2017