Profile image
By MaryAnn McCarra-Fitzpatrick
Contributor profile | More stories
Story Views

Last Hour:
Last 24 Hours:

In Darkness

Saturday, October 15, 2016 19:49
% of readers think this story is Fact. Add your two cents.

McCarra/Poetry falling into the arms of sleep as
she once did yours, the cold clasp
of Morpheus quieting her feverish
thoughts until she hears that
click in her head that makes
all go still.  The words stop.
the crack of ice floes in amber,
held in her hand, the blur of neon
across her eyes–she shakes her
bottles like castanets and
keeps time to the music–she
won’t let you in–it is
all hers, winding, snakelike, sinuous,
around her brainpan, and the
needle-pricks spell out, in swollen
flesh, help me, help,
my mother, my father, the silver
spoon you gave me is blackened, flattened
with this disease of mine
that sickens me so, the
desire that plays along my heartstrings,
veins a conduit for rivers of
poison, this dark desire suffocating
every suffering moment
and still I shake my castanets,
count out the tablets like words
of love, yes, yes, yes, my little
my lovely ones, pale moons clattering away in your hollow music,
the sound ever receding

a finger points to the lines
written in the sky:   I have
died a hundred times or more, it is
an art, like anything else; I
do it so well, with the thick
finality finally muffling my words,
closing off my mouth for all time


We encourage you to Share our Reports, Analyses, Breaking News and Videos. Simply Click your Favorite Social Media Button and Share.

Report abuse


Your Comments
Question   Razz  Sad   Evil  Exclaim  Smile  Redface  Biggrin  Surprised  Eek   Confused   Cool  LOL   Mad   Twisted  Rolleyes   Wink  Idea  Arrow  Neutral  Cry   Mr. Green

Top Stories
Recent Stories



Top Global

Top Alternative



Email this story
Email this story

If you really want to ban this commenter, please write down the reason:

If you really want to disable all recommended stories, click on OK button. After that, you will be redirect to your options page.