Boxed by volume.
Square to the inch.
You can measure the demons stench.
Broken off inside my damaged boundaries.
Displayed by the unseen.
Projected down to be more transparent.
My soul is trapped.
Webbed to be poisoned.
Bitten by the chain of pain.
Death cocooned the spider.
Vibrations triggered by the fallen angels.
The sign of fear.
Filled with sugar coated bloody lime.
Clocks the thunder through my turmoil.
Timed by the end.
Sweet is the fragrance.
The one you refuse to smell.
Sulphur burns the acid through my veins.
In front and behind.
By the gates of hell.
So dies what was send.
The last of my scented scent.
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Comments about this poem (Scented Scent by Unic Cjonr )
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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