The Gospel of His Absence

The Rupture

My Mark withers - a dying vein,
its black turned crimson, thin with pain.
His magic slips from under skin,
a silence screaming where he's been.

The night cracks open at my feet;
the world feels wrong, incomplete.
I taste his absence in the air
a rot, a void, a vacant stare.

I press my palm to fading ink,
feel terror coil, feel reason sink.
If he is gone, then so am I
two ghosts stitched under one black sky.

So let the weak kneel down in fright;
I'll scour the dark, I'll bleed the night.
For where his shadow used to live,
I'll hunt, I'll tear, I'll find - I'll give.

My Mark still burns, though faint, undone.
It whispers: find him.
And I obey.

____________
Dear Reader,
this is a small collection of poems written with a bit of help from AI.
I was going to simply write them in my little notebook where I keep pretty or simply interesting and aesthetically pleasing pieces.

But once I had them all written down I realized that it might just be interesting to read for somebody else too. I know I would instantly click on this kind of fanfiction.

So enjoy.