by Alexis Child
Fighting every last one to extinction
there still exist a hundred empty spaces
with no miracles expected Monday
Time will not wither like death
Only the king of terrors and abominations
sleeps through this ambiguous dream
I beg the womb of night, lord of mirrors to smile
greeted by the exoskeletons of a day far too long
Ripped out of my world into yours
a tempered iron blade slides down my throat
Old men creep out here like a dark regime
mending their wire cut during the day
A single death is worthwhile
alongside the mad straight road
It will happen in darkness
like the spiraling smoke of an old dark war
© 2019 Alexis Child. All rites reserved until the worms crawl
Alexis Child hails from Toronto, where horror in its purest form
is a calculated crime against both the aspirations of the soul and
affections of the heart. She worked at a Call Crisis Centre,
befriending demons of the mind that roam freely amongst her writings,
once lived with a Calico-cat child sleuthing all that went bump in the
night, and is haunted by the memory of her cat.
Her fiction has been
featured in Schlock Magazine, The Official Fields of the Nephilim
SinisterCity, and U.K.’s Dark of Night Magazine.
Her poetry has been featured in numerous online and print
publications, including Aphelion, Black Petals, Blood Moon Rising
Magazine, The Horror Zine and elsewhere.
Her first collection of poetry, Devil
in the Clock, a dark and sinister slice of macabre horror,
gothic, surreal &
supernatural poetry is now available on Amazon.
Visit her website: http://www.angelfire.com/poetry/alexischild/
Find more by Alexis Child in the Author
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