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Dark Razors

Tags: dark, musing

Self-inflicted dark splatter with a handle of mahogany. Straight from the quill of my Gothic literature, of memories and laughter when we were but razors. Now withering with rage on a shadow's stage of bones. A gruesome couple filtering the harmony of life. Bleeding the veins beneath the cloistered moonlight. Now the crimson clot thickens bringing with it the pain of memories and laughter. When we were but razors, reflecting off the blades. A silent seer of our souls. Paled death in our johnny coats, pulled over our heads, Licking the unsweeten formaldehyde barium. With no ties or poppers. Just a trough to drain.   





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