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Horror/Psychological/Supernatural
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Oculus of Suffering

June 13, 2020

PROMPT: The Unseen

3
Invisible motion
And conjoined hearts are so
Unreliable. What
Does it matter to you
If I lose or win this
Time? If I spill all my
Cards as the timer
Ticks down --- pile on the
Ground, pleading for mercy---
What would it matter to
You? We have world-hopped to
Dystopian romance
Where the takers and the
Fakers wind up on top.
Invisible motion
Catches us in its eye---
Spectral, elusive blur,
A color lost in time.
Open your sunset eyes.
Conjoined hearts have always
Been predators, and we
Surrender to their bite. 
There's one truth we know of
This wound trapped on the flesh
Even after we've lost
Decades, decades again:
Our hearts are in motion
Forever--- this is so,
Especially when we
Rein them into their cells.
So say, if you mean well:
Am I the one bearing
The leash, or am I the
One wrapped inside red teeth?
We can't control its aim.
My words grow trite, my
Tongue ever yammers on,
And my body is a pupil for
An unseen eye which stalks
Beside me, tugging at
Its constraints, crying out
That I should join the race.
You--- do you know his name?
Did you care when I fell
And belied utter shame?
There is a voice inside
My head who wishes we
Could pretend life was the
Same. I know much has since
Transpired, and that we hold
Most of the blame. Do you
Know the color of rain?
Do you know the sound of
Grim and solemn silence?
Invisible motion
With the entire earth
To claim --- it asks for your
Forgiveness because it has
Lost its ways. I am not
Sure how long it plans to
Stay, but I'll shelter it.
Conjoined hearts are fruitless.
They're stuffed with dessert that
No one asked for but still
Will finish because it
Tastes sweet for an instant
Before giving way to
The madness of its sake.
We gobble down any
Sweetness our hearts can take
Because we all offer
Such diminished bounties
Of our own that it's fake.
We always hear the word 
'Fake' and scoff like it's a
Mimicked painting, a scam,
An item crafted from
Cheap material that is
Unworthy for the price
By a liar placed. How
Often do we sell our own
Skin, our own hands, our lips?
How often do we sell
Ourselves to our friends and
Deem it good impressions?
We have world-hopped to home.
It is more troubling
Than the horror stories
Which crowd our heads. It is
Invisible motion
Striking us down, drawing
A crowd because we all
Follow the crowd to some
Degree. At long last it
Can be seen--- It has made
Its presence known through our
Misery. It has, in
History, been a dark
Constant hov'ring over
Our heads-- a pallid mass.
It twists its eye toward
Us again. The leash is
Gone. How much do I still
Matter to you, my friend,
When we are dreading the
Meaning of everything?
Strike me down. I have swept
My cards under the rug.
I will say I lost them.
Make my body into
Mincemeat pie. The timer
Hits zero as I try.
The color vanishes
From my eye as still I
Lie. I guess I will die
Here. Twin eyelids shutting,
Quaint, wrinkled book covers.
The story's over now.

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1 Comment
  • chrysanthemums&ink

    beautiful! i'll probably have to reread it a few times to catch the things you've so cleverly written in. :)


    6 months ago