Insomniac hour:
cannibalistic midnights committing suicide,
while necrophiliacs gleefully play hide-and-seek
on the withered grounds of a dusty limbo.
Grotesque beauties chant morbid prayers,
as their skeletal fingers become knotted
in the rusty chains of rosaries.
His cracked thoughts are filled
with romantic lullabies, wails from tattered banshees
being strangled by the nooses around their slashed necks.
Lacy spider webs intricately enshroud years,
the gaping abyss which devoured his heart.
Dreaming forever, he shares flower beds with depressed stars;
slumber cradles him in pools of sticky soup,
the putrid ink oozing from her mouth.
Beloved,
leave our dandelion throne which is infested with maggots.
Let go of the carcasses, the dead teddy bears
from our innocent love story.
My dear,
won't you please wake?
The devil is ready to scribble out
your name with three chipped stone letters.
Please come back to me...
