
Buried in the shadows—an echo in the void that is my vacant mind; you were.
There, you are.
Still—a statue, marble skin, your cheeks cut from the stone of the Gods.
And though you may be Holy,
a part of me sees
the dark
the glow in your raven eye.
There,
in the dark
thoughts run slick as blood
from my open wounds and closed scars.
In the night, all is quiet in a house of shadows and statues. Cut in marble as they sleep. A caw cuts across the deep empty dark and the blood flows again.
About the Creator
Victoria Ferris
Visual artist, writer and ghost enthusiast.


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