Dead Ink

I'm pleased as a murderer
Who has dealt his fatal
Blows successfully
Staining the crimson ground.

Although a part of me dies,
When death comes to close
His eyes.

As I walk in the gloomiest
Part of town-
Black as the grave
I wear the garb of the dead
For I have never really lived.

Was I being led by the devil?
Did he steal my soul?
Drag me down further
Into this black hole?

He said he was here to
Help me, pay me for
What I was owed
I just said, 'No.'

I had fallen into his trap
His silver tongue spit silver bullets
Leaving me with scars I'd never show.

A cold place to be
As I slip into the waves
Of the silent sea.

Walking for what seemed like
An eternity
Sweating under the setting sun
Madness jabs at my brain.

Voices echoing
I lick my perfumed
Lips wondering.

Staring into the enchanted eyes of the
Green Fairy; Absinthe, my only real friend
Heavenly greatness descends upon
My numb body.

My spirits are revived
Yet this silence is the
Heart's worst suicide
And hope is the cruelest
Devil with angel's wings.

I write a letter to the dead
I write with a maddening hunger
I write myself into nervous breakdowns
Where the stars will not align
And sadness is the sun.

Feel the shadows move across my skin
Intoxicating, irreplaceable
Magical.
You are all the above,
Guilty of sin and dust.

You wear a hellish guise like
A demon
Staring at me with an open mouth,
Widened eyes.

You are the fight in my soul,
This life of crime,
The fight in my soul until the
End of time.

This bittersweet pain is enough
To call your name and run
For cover,
Demoniacal lover.

You are the hole down below.
You and I will make more dust.
Love me, love me,
Put it in the ground,
Where the flowers grow.

In the silent hourglass of
The blackest hells that
Guide us now,
I danced with the devil
I was his prey.

And afterwards, there was
Only a gaping emptiness
The familiar ache,

I fill my pockets with pebbles
And poems no muses
Will ever read
And wade into Lethe.

Rising, I do not find his face
I drown with a stranger's arms
About my waist.

All mirrors break with
Haunted murmurs
Beneath my feet

As passing mist;
Smoke and mirrors of the
Devil's magic red right hand.

At Midnight, I'm out for a stroll
I greet the devil
Out there collecting souls.

Walk with me, Cerberus
From Hades to the Hounds of Hell
Fear…
Is all to itself.

Alexis Child hails from Toronto, Canada; home to dreams and nightmares. She worked at a Call Crisis Center befriending demons of the mind that roam freely amongst her writings. Alexis once lived with a Calico-cat child sleuthing all that went bump in the night and is haunted by the memory of her cat. She has had a small measure of underground success with her gothic rock and darkwave bands in the past. Besides having rare mystical experiences she hopes are not just short circuits in the brain, she writes dark poetry while starving in the garret with her muse. A starving child is a frightful sight. A starving vampire is even worse. Please donate non-perishable food items and B-negative blood (and make it a double!).

Alexis' fiction has been featured in Danse Macabre, Schlock, Screams of Terror, 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, The Horror Zine, ParABnormal Magazine, The Sirens Call and elsewhere. Her first collection of poetry, Devil in the Clock, a dark and sinister slice of the macabre, is available on Amazon. Alexis' second collection of poetry is now available on Amazon and from Cyberwit Publishing

Visit her website:http://www.angelfire.com/poetry/alexischild/ and her YouTube Channel:https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCg6S5u4yX73kA1ZWGnKaEBA/videos

Find more by Alexis Child in the Author Index.

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