the monsters are all inside
What did you mean when you told me there was nothing under the blanket, in the dark?
When you sleep, They suddenly wake
like gnawing gyres. Their depravity
vast and turbulent. Like a bevy of fingers
wresting your boneless body below gravity.
//
Quiet soon follows. The turbidity lingers.
They tremble. White fog mourning pouring
over you. Their sadness a guest to your mind,
like a war quietly churning. A memorial. A warning.
//
Just as suddenly, They still. Body misaligned.
Sadness a guest inside. Like soft hands smoothing
currents into streams. A trembling settling--unsteady--
like yellow morning vortexes slowly soothing
//
us All. Still, turbid water veils: a soft morning eddy:
a reminder: we matter long before daybreak.
About the Creator
Corvus
Corvus is a kaleidoscope of Gothic word-craft, stuck somewhere within the hurricanes of prose and poetry and wrung out on each page. Find more fragments of the love letter on their website, corvuslove.
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