Haze of darkness presses in every point of the rose
He is alone, he is lost, and fear is eating away at this man’s focus
Fading, her voice slips away from his memory and he tries so. grabbing handfuls of sand
Blocks of wood cursed his faithless wrist
And every bad thought he has ever held to himself in the darkness comes true
Blaming his hangover he tries again, but something refuses to let him die.
This little Mary Monster
They comment on it on occasion
“Oh how beautiful. I didn’t know you were a religous man.”
I am not. And the sight of it plagues me.
Why not get rid of it then?
I fear the consequences will crush me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.