The night the universe stilled.

Candle-lit bed covers
course around my withered frame.
Eyes gaze with desperate vacancy
into the window glass,
anticipating the minds demise.
Mentally prepared,
hoisting up the missiles
for self destruction.

Suddenly the clouds lurch,
communally parting snowy nations
to allow this figure to pass.
Cold dew drops scatter
regally on her skin,
gleaming silver against the
black dress she shelters under.
A looking glass proudly
rests in each iris;
crimson splatters the inner walls
when battle commences.
Today her eyes are bloodshot.

Drawing a sword out of the sheath
she keeps in the slender stretch
of air beside her,
my muscles tense in alarm.
Gracefully drawing the wintry edge
along each of my veins;
carving tales of defeat
in valiant burgundy.

The other colours trickle
down my arm as rain.
Watering other inferior patterns:
to help them grow,
and grow they did.
When she lifted the
metal off of my skin,
I had no skin at all.

I, her living creation;
a mess of flesh,
howling a story (can you hear it?).
She offered me a life of my own,
and the universe stilled abruptly.
And as I opened my mouth,
I opened my eyes.
Barely realizing I was screaming.





Entered into the 'Frightmare' competition.