by DevonCrowKingwoonsocket, Rhode Island, USA
Jul 2015 676 Views 0 comments
Premonitionary Presence
Frequently,
Death sticks its sticky fingers
Into my brain
And rummages through my drawers.
Always
The presence lingers
Deep in the part of the brain
That feels self-preservation.
The presence haunts me
Never to leave.
Where will I go?
To Perdition or Paradise?
To penalty of Purification?
Flames throughout my essence,
Ashes throughout my veins,
And screams throughout my soul.
Close to the gates of prison,
I think of Death.
Frequently.
Death sticks its sticky fingers
Into my brain
And rummages through my drawers.
Always
The presence lingers
Deep in the part of the brain
That feels self-preservation.
The presence haunts me
Never to leave.
Where will I go?
To Perdition or Paradise?
To penalty of Purification?
Flames throughout my essence,
Ashes throughout my veins,
And screams throughout my soul.
Close to the gates of prison,
I think of Death.
Frequently.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2015
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