Desolation





She is like an inanimate mother,
of a bizarre changeling
She nurses it upon
her own arterial blood
of heart; deepest crimson
that has turned ugliest black
While she knows its lethal,
It bites her tender part
So that she could die on vine, easily.
She’s dispensable, below par; to her own self.




She allows it to feed on her
Accepting her fate,
Until she’s bloated with her
Own transient state.
She empower this stillborn
To drain her own anima
Until she no longer can perceive,
Any pain nor any joy
Peace nor fear
Hate nor love
Lust nor chastity
Passivity nor frigidity
She has designated her child as
‘Loneliness’
And she lets it consume her
Till she’s
Empty.

 


Image Source : Flickr.com


 


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