|Captive of This House, photographed by Moondustwriter|
Face fleshed press to glass
In a prism of this stifling
Uncharted waves of tempered light
Spatially charged with a dimension
Infused into all
Memories remain, yet soon shall fade
Clinging tight you dare not cede
The last shreds of
Life and dignity
And I wonder why
Why’d you evade the reaping?
How is it his sickle found not thee?
Are you afraid, of how things will be,
When fragments are all that remain,
Incessantly tormenting with their sparse refrains?
I don’t know whether to smile or cry
I can’t decide if should pray for the reaper’s return
For I can’t see a fate forever resembling vengeance—
And here I must cry, for hell never had you in its plans…