Nightscapes wrapped around
whispering breezes, and
moonlit strolls under wishing stars,
were refuge to my dreams.
Flights of fantastical realities and
escapes into harmless passions
lost, never discovered.
Dreamy simplicity tossed
like autumn leaves on
balefire burning to warm
the frozen mind of derelicted
On two legs or
pushed down, a
host, a walking death.
Corrupted by an admission.
Bliss turned to offensive specter.
Infested through a small tear in my
essence, stained with
blind denial, the parasite feeds.
A pregnant black fly, settling on
a festering wound to sip the
youthful blood offering
and in a million wicked seeds of torment,
lay eternal descendants. Productive,
in the abscessed gloom of my mind.
Chaotic malignance in my subconscious.
Empty husk, obscuring the parasite within.
Anchored beneath layered screams,
my flailing limbs dislodge
the maggots. Exploding from
my distended tongue.
Hear their chittering,
dry cackled laughter inside-out
upside-down. The strings shiver
on the puppeteered.
Ripened night-terrors carry acid rain tears.
Consume my tendered flesh, and
spew forth with harsh effect.
Ravish the unsuspecting.
Etch my scarred existence
forevermore, for I am wicked.
© 1999 Edward P. Berglund
"Nightscåpe": © 1998 Kåren James. All rights reserved. This is reprinted from Feelings Flow.
Graphic © 1999 Erebus Graphic Design. All rights reserved. Email to: James V. Kracht.
Created: August 17, 1999; Updated: August 9, 2004