Shhhh keep our secrets,
whispered the night.
Which "me" they spoke to,
I have no clue.
For I was separated
and divided by the grave.
Living alive and yet dying
without a corpse's breath.
The stink and rot have found me not.
I live within a perfumed existence,
one that allures many to my lair.
I love to dine and drink blood wine
but I hate the mortals that I must sup from.
I return to my prison every morn,
lips sealed and silent as a monks vow.
I am bound by shackles of the shadows,
peering out upon the world of light.
A glass veil between me and this sight,
My hand splays, lays in yearning plight.
Upon the cold pane that encases the two of me.
The one that lives and the one that has died.
"Help me" is the silent cry from my eyes,
but the shades have been drawn.
No longer are they the windows to my soul,
Painted coal black, so none may see back.
What illusions I can give!
One of masked smiles and dangerous dances.
While I cut their throats and slash out the tongues,
Their laughter still giggling while the blood is gurgling.
Filling my goblet with the bubbling absinthe of fools,
and their giblets fulling my eternally empty belly.
I cry for the loss, I cry for my gain.
This existence has driven me to many ways of insane.
My home is inside every single killer,
Those aware and those who must awaken yet.
If you feel a tingling niggling tickle at your brain
and you create right there and then a very bad thought,
You've only just begun to know the nightmare that I am.
But alas, I can say no more!
Shhhh keep our secrets,
whispers the night.
Which "me" they speak to,
I have no clue.
For I am separated
and divided by the grave.
Where demons play, pretending to be"exorcised",
it is within this evil that I reside.
"The Dead Don't Always Make Sense” Written by ©®™ Atusha Avarus
